


If you go out to the woods today

by hurt_stiles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone's having trouble, Gen, Ghosts, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Minor Character Death, More supernatural creatures, Nemeton, Post Nogitsune, Post-Allison's Death, Sad Stiles, Scott has trouble with powers, Sick Stiles, Some angst, Some pain, Stiles Needs Better Coping Mechanisms, happy ending probably, holy SHIT the angst, i mean seriously he's an idiot, whats going on with Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:24:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 70,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2009100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurt_stiles/pseuds/hurt_stiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hey Scott?" I ask slowly, turning away.<br/>"What is it?" He answers stubbornly, looking at me with tired eyes.<br/>"Where were you last night?" I question quickly, unconsciously fidgeting with my long sleeve.<br/>"At home, why?" He sighs, blinking in confusion.<br/>"It- no, I- nothing. It's nothing." I stammer out, before stumbling away in a fast manner. </p><p>Or,<br/>When Stiles takes a walk and gets attacked in the woods. But by who, or by what?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey this is my first fic and to anyone reading this for the first time, i just wanna tell you to bear with because i wrote the first couple of chapters like a year ago and let's be real here they're pretty crap, but i picked this up again recently and i'm just saying that i genuinely do think that the quality improves, so i mean if you read the first chapter and are like "wtf the fuck this chapter is bad" just know that i actually agree and that it doesn't reflect the whole fic.  
> anyway, thank you reading, and i'd really appreciate kudos or feedback.   
> enjoy!

It started with a stumble through the woods. It always did. When Scott was first bit by Peter, when the Darach started killing, when the Nogitsune took over my body. And now this. 

My depressingly dull story also starts with a different story, and there's always a different story, crisscrossing to form a web of tales. Mine just happens to be a crappy one. The usual origin stories are full of love and adventure and good times, but mine just contains a stupid boy and a stupider idea. 

It started three days ago after we finally trapped the Nogitsune in this wooden box, three days since Aiden died, only four days since Allison...  
Anyway, naturally after that, I decided to take some time away from the pack. A little selfish I know, but it's how I grieve. Plus I didn't think I'd be able to face them considering it was slightly kinda majorly on me. It wasn't even for that long, I just wanted to take a walk, to get away from Scott who needs someone to blame other than himself, and from Lydia who needs to be alone. So I walked. And I walked. Before I knew it, I was in the preserve. And I suddenly felt an odd feeling spreading in my bones, I couldn't really describe it. It was a small feeling at first, but it lingered. It was like someone wrapped their hand around my heart and lightly squeezed, and started pulling me to the left. Or west. Whatever.  
I'd started walking without realising, or meaning to, and being my quirky self, I started panicking, freaking out that the Nogitsune was back, or that it was never really gone. But then I did the normal thing to see if I could move, and my arms were fine. I could look around and control everything except my legs, that were moving in a slow yet steady pace ahead. I couldn't think of what to do, because it looked like all the trees and helpful things to anchor myself to had disappeared, leaving me stranded and disabled, so I let my legs lead me, hoping it would lead to something not evil.  
It wasn't a long auto-pilot journey, but long enough for me to truly feel that heart-gripping sensation growing stronger, making me want keel over, or, you know, actually breathe, because that would've been a nice thing to be able to do. I did the whole 'dying fish' routine too, from gasping for air to the whole arm flapping thing to try and stop my legs that continued in the agonisingly slow pace through trees, while still having my favourite jeans getting snagged and ripped on the rocks and branches I walked through. 

I hadn't even noticed my surroundings, I didn't see the signs, until it was sitting there right in my face like the arrogant tree stump that it is. I don't know how a rotting tree stump can be arrogant, but it is. And it's irritating.  
But all at once, my legs stopped, and the hand around my heart vanished, leaving my chest free of supernatural feelings, like usual. That time though, I did keel over, and hyperventilate, desperate to inhale all the air I could, in case the crushing heart pain returns. I didn't care if anyone could see me, it was either that or death. 

After a painfully slow recovery, I finally glanced up to where my legs dragged me to, and when my slow brain finally clicked the location with where I was, I actually sighed in annoyance. I guess it's better than screaming and running. That was my first thought. The second was "not this damn stump again". Because, that's right, I was dragged back to the Nemeton.  
Then a third thought spiralled into my head, one that definitely should have come first if my head was at all rational. What if I wasn't alone? I span around quickly making my best fighting pose, almost certain that a new life-ruining entity was behind me. Luckily, it was just empty forest, except for the trees. A clearing and plants and common birdsong echoing around. A normal forest. I looked up, to see some clouds rolling in from the east, but it was still bright and sunny, and it was only 1pm by my watch. I had time to figure out what the hell brought me here. 

As I edged closer to the Nemeton, and after inspecting the trees around to make sure I was alone, I began forming my list of subjects, or causes. I immediately ruled out the Nogitsune, mostly out of fear and denial to be honest. Then there was Peter. There had always been a Hale on my list, plus come on, he'd been all shifty and mysterious since coming back from the dead. But I doubted he'd have the power to do that, or the patience. After him was the person I never wanted to be on the list but always seemed to be, Lydia. She has Banshee powers, and none of us really knew what she could do. She could've developed some new abilities, or unconsciously brought me here to do her bidding or whatever criminal masterminds do. 

I finally reached the depressing stump, noticing immediately that it looked different. Granted, last time I saw it, it was in my head while battling a demon at a Japanese board game. But still, I dreamt about it enough times to memorise the old husk and when to notice that something was wrong. To normal people, it would seem like an average stump, old, decaying and ugly. But that's just it. The Nemeton was thousands of years old, even when it was cut down, it wouldn't decay. It would look new and fresh up until someone finally destroyed it. Something was wrong, something was causing the stump to wither. On a good day, I would've wished the source good luck, but there was something clearly off if it dragged me over here, and I was clearly then involved. It was just frustrating to me that soon after the Nogitsune- after I, killed all those people, caused all that destruction, there was a new issue around and it couldn't wait one damn week to use me all over again. Before, it was a fly, now it's a tree, so it's making a lovely list of things that possessed my body. Next thing, they'll start a club. And whatever had the power to make the Nemeton sick has got to be a formidable threat. 

And then, as I finally reached touching-distance of the ill tree, I got a feeling. Not the same feeling I got on the way to here, or one of Lydia's death feelings, but like I had the overwhelming urge to touch it, to feel the scars plaguing the small space. It was as if my soul willed me to go nearer, to help. It blocked out my hearing, so I couldn't hear the deathly silence fall around me as I neared it. It clouded my vision of everything but the Nemeton, so I couldn't see the darkness creep around me. It also nulled the senses in my brain that should've screamed at me to stop, to focus, but all I had on my mind was to reach out and hold the dying stump.  
I raised my arm slowly and clumsily, as if a drunk puppeteer was controlling me, and my hand was outstretched, my long fingers reaching out. I felt so strongly about it that my body didn't even try and protest, I had no objections, although looking back, I believe I wouldn't have had any effect on it. I became vaguely aware of static surrounding my ears as I bent down to inspect the marks littering the tree, but I wasn't in full control of my brain to register the wrong noise. My heart hitched as my middle finger brushed the rough bark, and in that split second, I felt as if some unrelentless force that was pushing down on me was gone, I was aware again. Aware of the sound, the air, the silence, and the underlying thought of how much of an idiot I was. Then, in the next second, my vision clouded into darkness, and I felt the world turn, and myself hit the ground, and I felt my own heart stop beating, then nothing. 

That was, by my calculation, 12 hours ago. And here I am, at 1am, lying in the forest next to a tree. I woke up suddenly around five minutes ago, my face jerking off the floor to be faced with immense darkness. I checked my phone quickly a minute later to confirm that it was 1am, and there was no signal whatsoever. My head is still pounding, and my body feels so weak, as if I'd been running for hours, or like I could fall over at any moment. Everything aches, and I just feel empty. I lift my hand up to rub my head, which takes up a lot of energy, causing me to dry heave, and sit down heavily on the ground. I cough loudly, racking my body, my voice already sounding horse. I take in my surroundings, squinting to see what I can decipher, and I discover that I am still in the same part of the forest. I don't know why I would've moved, but better to check.  
The next thought hits me like a train and I curse loudly at my inability to focus, and I think if this was a horror movie, I wouldn't last the entirety of the first scene, while I spin around to face the thing that caused this, because once again, I forgot the main thing to do in any of these situations, even though I doubt that being controlled by a tree has happened to anyone ever. 

Two things register in my mind quickly, and I whisper aggressively; "The hell...?"  
The first being that the Nemeton is no longer a sickly looking dying stump thing. In fact, it's not a stump at all, but a huge tree, reaching as high as my eyes can see, as if it had never been cut down, which can only be great for everyone.  
The second, is that I'm not alone.


	2. Chapter 2

I hear a growl before I see anything. It's low and guttural, and very animalistic, yet somehow not. In other words I have no idea what it is.  
I spin around to face the source of the noise, but see empty forest behind me. And to the side. And in front. Not only have I completely forgotten where I am, but there's something or someone after me and I don't know where it is. This is off to a great start. 

I turn continuously, trying to locate the origin of the growl that's growing louder and angrier, only to be faced with dark trees and frustration. It seems to be coming from all around me.   
I can't help but be reminded of a similar instance where this happened, in a dream fabricated by the Nogitsune. This could all be another projection to make me scared for my life, like the thousands of other times it did that over the past few weeks in my head.   
I can still see the mangled corpses of everyone I know littered around the trees, with the bloody weapon clenched tightly in my hand. I half expect to see that again, but nothing springs into my sight, and usually the Nogitsune wants to rub my face in the torment and put everything on show. So I guess I can rule that out, it's too subtle here. 

But that only leaves the horrifying truth that I am awake and this is happening, not to mention the automatic walking and weird magic tree growth, because wow, I haven't even addressed that yet. It's completely re-grown and flourishing, unless I've gone back in time. And at this moment, I have no evidence to doubt that. I mean I probably haven't, but I can't rule it out. A tree cant just grow in 12 hours. I keep well away this time as I study it, being careful not to touch it at all after what happened before. I don't want it to become self aware or grow limbs or something. 

I don't have time to observe the tree or ponder the issues of giant trees on the loose, because the growling soon returns, louder and angrier, more like a snarl and definitely closer.   
The sudden intrusion of noise startles me, and I jump back. I then realise that it seems the mysterious growler was waiting for me to make the first move, and that taking a step back seems to have triggered a chase. I look in front, past the big ass tree just in time to see a dark blur speed towards me. I know it's really clichéd to say 'a dark blur', or 'it happened so quickly' but honestly, it is and it did. It darts between trees as fast as anything and all I see is this dark mess flinging itself at me. 

My thoughts spring forward without hesitation, that I need to move, that I need to run. I will my legs to work, but they're still shaking and weak, and unresponsive apparently. I spin my torso in the hopes it would kick start my legs into realising that I need to move, but I just fall helplessly to the floor.   
I waste no time with looking behind me or even trying to pick myself up as the snarling figure is almost upon me. I drag myself into the darkness in a random direction, focusing only on putting one hand in front of the other and pulling. I use grass as leverage, and a tree trunk or two if I get close enough, but I know it's no use as it gives way to dirt and I have nothing to drag myself by. Plus the hand grasping my left ankle. Mostly that. 

I spin myself around as I feel sharp claw pierce my leg, and I feel cold wetness seep down. I want to scream but no voice comes out. Not that it would be any use, it's the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere.   
I try and look at my assailant, but it seems that darkness is clouding my vision, and I can't see anything past my chest. The deep snarl is still there, but it seems quiet for minute, as if the creature is just watching me.   
I try and use this to discreetly get up, but there's no way I can get by without triggering another attack of some sort.   
I chose the only other option I have.   
I take a deep breath and bring the leg not in this dude's iron grip to my chest, and kick with all my might to where I assume the face would be.   
I hear a sickening crunch and a roar of pain from both me and it, as he staggers back, ripping my leg as he goes. I feel the blood flowing freely now, but I have no time to waste. I roll onto my stomach and push up, and get onto my knees, and then feet. Well, foot. I try both but I immediately hiss in pain at the damaged leg, so I limp as fast as I can away from the staggering beast. 

It's not like I can hide, with this blood trail behind me, and I doubt I'll be able to outrun this thing, but I can damn well try.   
After a minute or two with complete silence except for my own fast breathing and my heart beat in my ears, I pause, and listen. Is it possible that I knocked it out? Or has it just stopped chasing me? They both seem doubtful, and I am not going to risk standing around, so I continue limping in my desired direction. Man I hope this actually leads somewhere.   
I take one hop ahead on my shaking leg and then I hear it. A sound that sends shivers down my spine. A roar that echoes through the trees, louder than any one I've ever heard before. And it sounds angry. Livid, actually. And murderous.   
I start swearing vigorously as I run past trees. Screw the agony, I don't have time to be careful. I sense that things brush past me, but it's still to dark to see. I almost run straight into a tree, but narrowly avoid it at the last second. Every time I put my leg on the floor, it sends sparks up my body and lingering pain, but I keep going.   
I start to hear thumping coming from behind, and I pick up the pace, knowing that it's the beast catching up.   
"Crap!" I whisper, as tears sting my eyes, and as the thumping of what I can only assume is the thing running grows louder and louder until it comes from right behind me.   
A clawed hand suddenly grabs my right shoulder, the familiar feeling of claws digging into my flesh. It spins me around quickly so that I face the monster, and the claws are removed then, not before some lasting damage takes place.   
I catch a glance at what was chasing me, and I see the outline of it, a vaguely human-like shadow, before a hand comes crashing down and scratches down my chest in a diagonal motion. 

I feel my chest rip open by the claws, and I gasp in pain and fall to my knees, my legs unable to cope any more. I tear my eyes from the blood stained claws to glimpse the damage done. My shirt is now black with blood and it is ripped down the chest. It leaves gaping marks showing my skin, or what used to be skin, and what now is only torn flesh. I feel the agonising pain and I struggle to stay on my knees as my vision blurs and darkens and I fight to breathe.   
I prepare for the worst, looking down, expecting the hand to come down again, but nothing happens. I look up, and the figure has vanished, leaving me to bleed out on the forest floor. What kind manners. 

I taste blood in my mouth, yet it feels dry, and I start shivering even through I feel like I might melt. But I don't dare move, in case the beast is still waiting. But after a moment, the silence is almost deafening and the pain is unbearable in my chest, leg and shoulder, so I stumble to my one working foot, powered only by the thought of imminent death.   
I don't even hesitate to pick a direction, I only stagger ahead, not looking behind or around me, only at what's ahead. The pace is painfully slow, but I can only focus on putting one foot forward again, and again, and again. Walking hurts, breathing hurts, but I have got to do both and ignore the blood running down my stomach, or the blood being soaked up in my trousers.  
Was that thing a werewolf? Or something else? Something worse? It's definitely strong and evil and bound to come up again. I'll have to talk to Scott about it later.   
Oh, god, Scott. How am I going to explain this to him? Or dad? Or anyone, actually. I can't exactly go to the hospital, because what if this is a supernatural thing and I randomly heal, or if they ask what really happened?   
What if I turn into a werewolf? Scott said people can turn by scratch if it's deep enough, and any of these three injuries could be considered deep. If it was even a wolf that is. It could've been anything.   
My breath hitches in my throat and I tumble to the floor, my body trembling uncontrollably as the pain flows over me.   
I shout in pain as my shoulder and chest hit the ground, torture jarring through me and I roll over onto my back, breathing heavily, tears dropping on my face. I've lost so much blood that I honestly believe I could die right here, alone and in immeasurable pain. It's what I deserve.   
But I don't die. More pain comes instead. Making me feel it. I close my eyes and clench them, feeling unconsciousness loom closer. 

I don't remember getting up, or walking through the forest, but when I come to in a haze of confusion, I am lying on a hard floor, surrounded by blackened walls and overgrown plants coming through the cracks, in a pool of my own sticky blood.   
I panic slightly at the change of scenery, and I'm not sure if this is better or worse than still being in the forest.   
I sit up suddenly, causing me to shout in agony as my injuries rip more under the strain. I forgot about them.   
They're still leaking blood steadily, and I have had no medical attention and at this rate I could die any minute. Not to mention the fact that many people will be pissed at me when I stagger home with blood everywhere.   
I glance around quickly as I get up, trying and failing to do it without disrupting my chest or leg, which still look like hell. Worse than hell. They look how I feel.   
That's when I realise where I am. I was here like a couple months ago, but in a different part of it. How the hell did I get here? I'm lying in the living room of the old Hale house, on the dust ridden floor in the old husk of a room. That means, I realise with a groan, that I'm still in the preserve, but it also means that I know where I am, and how to leave.   
I stand up, not bothering to brush myself off, because really, with all the dirt and blood on me, a little dust won't hurt me more. I take a look around to see if anything is different, to show how I got here or any sign to help, but it was a desolate ruin before, and I have no idea what to look for.   
I look down at myself to try and determine if I'm strong enough to keep going, with my crappy leg and mauled chest, but I don't really have an alternative.  
From what I can see through the gaping holes in my shirt is that I really need to stitch it up and bandage it, like now. And from here, I can't really see my leg area, but if the massive stain on my trousers is anything to go by then it also needs attention. The word 'pressure' floats around in my head, but I honesty wouldn't know where to start on the whole thing. 

I start to hobble over to the door as a plan formulates in my mind. It's gonna be a feeble one, but I don't really have the time for a well thought out heist-type deal here.   
I could go home, because ever since the whole beat-up-by-an-old-man situation and the werewolf life, I've stockpiled bandages and needles and other first aid stuff in my room, and really, I'm surprised it's taken me this long to get seriously hurt. I quickly rule that out, because I wouldn't want dad to accidentally walk in with me and blood and scars everywhere. Plus, ever since the Nogitsune, I haven't felt at home in that room. Too many bad memories of panic attacks alone and nightmares and a crazy fit of stabbing my bed with scissors. I've actually only slept in there once, and it was an awful night with bad dreams and terror, and when I woke up I was standing outside my house, sweating and crying. So I can rule out there.  
The only other place I can think of is Deaton's vet place, because it's obvious he'll have bandages and stuff. But, people would probably be there though. You know, with work hours and stuff, even Scott could be there. And I don't want that. At all, really.   
Actually, thinking about it, I have no idea what the time is. It could be morning or night. How long was I out? I finally think of checking my phone, to discover it's 3am, and it's only been two hours since I was attacked. That solves one problem then, I can go to the vets. I'm about to put my phone away when something catches my eye. I have signal.   
I go against better judgment and call Scott without hesitation. I imagine what I'll say to him, probably to tell my dad that I stayed the night with him so he'll stop worrying. Nothing about today though, that's face to face news. I wait patiently as the ringing continues, loud and irritating in my ear, as I reach the front door of the burned building and step out into the dark forest. I don't go further though, I just wait by the door.   
A minute later the ringing stops, and I pause, because Scott always answers his phone. Even if it's 3am and a school night, he always answers. Maybe he's with Lydia? I wonder, like a group therapy session or something. Yeah, that's probably it. There's no point worrying, there are plenty of reasons to not answer your phone. 

I see the signal deplete as quickly as it came, so I put it back in my pocket, my hands now shaking in the cold morning air. But I doubt they're shaking from cold. I don't bother even trying to phone any one else, and I just limp in the direction I know leads to civilisation.   
I'm on constant alert as I trek through the dark, for werewolves, for whatever attacked me, for anything. But nothing comes. It's like a normal night, minus the bloody boy limping through a dark forest alone. I just hope that it is what it seems, and there aren't any thing lurking around. I wouldn't be able to handle a normal forest creature, let alone a supernatural one. 

I cough and my body shudders in pain, and every breath I take feels like a nail in my chest. My leg is numb and cold, which cannot be a good sign, and my torso just explodes in hot torture every minute or so, making me want to just lie down and sleep. Or die. One of the two.  
But I know I can't stop, and it will be the death of me if I do. I'm close too, about 10 minutes away from the vet, and it'll have medical stuff there to help. Probably.   
I see the street lamp lights in the distance, and I begin to have hope. That is, until I hear a sound coming from nearby. I turn around so suddenly that I fall backwards, agony shooting across my body and I gasp.   
I wait silently for anything else, but nothing comes.   
"It was the wind." I tell myself, trying to sound convinced, even though anyone who says that ever ends up dead in a horror movie because it was clearly not the wind.   
I get up suddenly, ignoring for the time being the unbearable ache in my torso and I run as fast as I can on my one leg towards the light, which is actually still pretty damn slow. I narrowly avoid trees, and I feel hot tears flow down my face and I finally burst out of the forest next to a kids park.   
I jump over the fence and land on my injured leg,and I feel it twist and snap, causing me to yell and collapse onto the astroturf. I scramble away, to a nearby bench and sit on it. I turn around to see the forest, and how it seems quiet and empty. For now.   
I rest my leg for a while, knowing that me landing on it awkwardly probably caused more damage than before, so that's great. But at least I'm not dead. My trousers and shirt are both clinging to me, probably due to a mix of sweat and blood, and I'm thankful for the lack of werewolves around or they'd be able to smell it clearly. Or anyone, really. I mean it's not really discreet.   
I then curse myself for a third time, for not looking if anything is around, anything evil or something that wants to kill me. I turn around as fast as my body allows, and thankfully it is an empty park.  
The street lights surround it, lighting it up, giving it a gratefully lighter look than the dark area I was in before. Other than that, it's a generic playground, from the swing set to the slide and a little soccer field to my left. It smells fabricated too, with the fake grass and plastic seats. It's actually pretty crappy looking, but I can't see beyond the safety of it. I recognise it straight away because it's on the same street as Deaton's. With a moan, I get up and start walking. 

I'm thankful for the early morning silence, so no one can see me bleeding and groaning. There was a group a teenagers walking on the opposite side of the street, but they were so drunk I doubt they even saw me. A couple of cars passed too, but it was too dark for them to notice me. I hope, anyway.   
I feel faint and physically ill by the time I reach the back doors of the building and I reach out for something to steady myself on. Deaton has left the back door unlocked ever since we knew that he knew about the werewolves. It's been handy with all the injuries those guys sustain. Hopefully it'll help me now. 

I push against the door with my back, my legs shaking under the strain of my weight, and I stumble in as the door swings open. I throw myself onto the familiar table, lying down and breathing heavily to try and dull the ache everywhere. After I catch my breath, I sit up and take off my shirt, which in itself was a challenge due to the amount of blood soaked in it. I peel it off my chest and place it next to me, and even though I'm alone I can't help feel a little self conscious, out of habit. And it doesn't even have anything to do with the claw mark digging into my chest.   
I go to the sink, and fill it with water, put my shirt in it to get the blood out and get a cloth to wipe up the blood from the wound. It takes a while with all the dry and wet blood still around, but as I grit my teeth, I manage to soak it all in the cloth. 

For the first time, I get a good look at the wound. It has four claw marks that drag downwards, leaving gaping lines down my torso. It still throbs painfully and I don't know how I'll hide it from everyone. Or anyone. Thinking hard about how to treat a wound, I remember to stitch it up and apply pressure with something to soak up the blood. Using a needle and some thread I found with the bandages and a bottle of painkiller that I pocket, I messily stitch up my chest. You'd think that with all that went on today, a little needles wouldn't hurt, but no, it wouldn't be that easy. I yell and gasp and swear but it does nothing to ease the stabbing sensation. I do a fast job of it, and luckily it stays.  
I reach out for some bandages, and them push down on my chest quickly and painfully.   
I shout in discomfort and I stop breathing as I push down on my lungs. My vision blurs with the weight on me, and I grab some gauze from my left, ignoring the sudden images of the Nogitsune in gauze.   
I constantly keep one hand pushing down on my chest and I try and angle myself to wrap it around myself once, twice and a third time. It's tight, but without my hand pushing in one place, the pressure is all over and it actually helps. It feels more numb than painful at this moment, and I can breathe naturally, although it still stings a little. 

I tackle my leg next, taking my trousers off completely over my shoes, and throwing them in the sink with my shirt. I gag when I see it, and it's considerably worse than my chest, which I didn't think possible. Whereas it was a clean cut, this is more accidental, more messy. It goes deeper and the lines aren't straight, and they stop just above the ankle suddenly.   
I do the same with this, washing with the cloth and water to clean in, then the bandage and gauze. It was numb before, but now it feels on fire, and I can actually feel myself lose blood steadily. 

After finishing with that, I take a deep breath and lean back, taking in everything slowly. I don't bother with my shoulder because after all this bleeding it did, it just stopped hurting, really. I didn't realise how much I was bleeding as I walked in, but I see the steady stream on the floor leading to where I am now, and there's blood basically everywhere around me. Not inconspicuous at all. Lucky I got over my disgust of blood sooner. 

I walk over to the sink and take out my shirt and trousers, leaving bloody water behind. Not even a touch of red, it just looks like a sink full of blood.   
I dry them as best as I can, and put them on, even though the clothes are a little wet, and I ignore the cold, wet feeling so I bend over to clean up behind me.   
I then hear the front door being unlocked and opened, followed by whistling in Deaton's distinct voice. 

I stand up quietly, taking no notice of the dull ache in my chest and leg, and wait a second before escaping through the back door by hopping and closing it gently behind me. I have no time to clear up behind me, and now Deaton is gonna find the blood and crap he'll know it was me. I hear his footsteps come into the room I was just in and the whistling stops abruptly as do the footsteps.   
I don't listen anymore as I tentatively stand on my left leg, checking to see if it'll take my weight, and it barely does, but it still stings like hell. I'll probably need several weeks of bed rest and no werewolf activity preferably ever.   
I try and walk normally but I know there's going to be at least a little limp. And the soaking clothes are not helping. At least I got most of the blood out and now I just look like I fell in a lake instead of being stabbed. 

As I walk home, I'm surprised to see the sun start to come up over the houses, and after a quick look to my phone that is now constantly in my hand, it's 4:30 in the morning.   
I feel exhausted, yet not at all tired, and all I want to do it lie down and rest. I see my house loom ahead, and I know I will soon have my wish.   
I reach the door quickly and try the handle slowly, as to keep silent. I frown as I discover it's locked. I reach down to the rock on the right and lift it up, only to see there is no key there either. That's weird.  
I sigh as I realise I have no alternative, and ring the doorbell, keeping my finger on the buzzer as to wake him up.   
It's a good few minutes before he answers, and I hear like 3 bolts being undone, a steady click of metal until the door opens. I didn't even know we had that many locks, let alone why they'd all be locked now. I breathe in slowly as to not damage the bandaging around my chest, but it seems to be getting tighter and tighter, and I shuffle to lean on my right leg just as the door creaks open.   
I see a familiar face look up, but it was not the face I was expecting in my house.  
"Melissa?" I ask in incredulity. I take a step back and look up to make sure I was at the right house, and yes, this is mine. Why is she here?  
"Stiles?" She questions with the same amount of surprise. She rubs her eyes and rakes hand through her brown hair.   
"Yes, the Stiles who lives here?" I say slowly. Why is she so confused? It's not like I just walked into her house at 4am. Again.   
Before I say anything else to her, she turns around and shouts for my dad. I open my mouth to question the action before she turns back around and hugs me tightly. I flinch slightly at the weight on my chest pressing into my wound, but I try and keep it covered. Luckily, I don't she saw.   
It takes me a minute, but I wrap my arms around her and hug back.   
"Why are you so wet?" She jokes into my left shoulder, the one without claw marks on them thankfully.   
I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. I have no answer to that question. What I do have is multiple questions of my own.   
But once again I'm cut off from asking anything when my dad arrives down the stairs. I catch a glimpse of him looking like he hasn't slept in a week, and like he just heard the worst news ever, which is unusual. But then his eyes land on me as all that disappears, a big smile erupts on his face and he looks relieved. It must've been a long day for him, coming home and seeing me gone, not answering my phone, but this seems like a little much. I mean, it was only 12 hours ish.   
Melissa lets go suddenly, and my chest begins to relax before dad crashes into me and hugs me tighter.   
"Whoa, dad, slow down. I was only gone a couple hours." I half-laugh half-choke out when there's only silence. I feel him tense up around me, before he pulls away, his face now only showing confusion and concern. He and Melissa share a glance quickly and it makes me feel on edge.   
"What?" I ask cautiously. They don't answer, only they look guilty somehow.   
"What?" I demand again.   
"Stiles.." He starts quietly, looking at his feet. "You've been gone a little longer than a couple of hours. You've been gone a month."


	3. Chapter 3

I look between the two of them in stunned incredulity. I expect one to smile or burst out saying "Don't worry! It's a joke!" or something. But the way that my dad just looks down with a face that shows worry, or the way that Melissa just stares at me as if waiting my reaction cautiously, tells me that they aren't joking.   
"What?" I finally cough out, taking a step back out of reflex as the realisation hits me like a train. A month? A whole month? That isn't possible, is it? It can't be.   
"32 days you were gone." Melissa soothes silently. They both stand awkwardly, neither of them making any move towards me.   
I bring one hand up to my mouth and the other to drag through my hair as the reality of it starts to sink in. Of course they're not joking. I suddenly take a deep breath, and a sharp pain shoots through my chest causing me to gasp and take in more air. That leads to coughing and more pain jabbing my chest. I place a hand lightly over the wound and lean back against the wall of my house, still breathing deeply and quickly. The world starts to swim in front of me.   
I can see the colours swirling around me as my eyes begin to water vigorously, and I think I can vaguely hear someone calling my name, but it sounds like it would as if I was underwater. I can't hear any sounds except for my heart pumping and static.   
My chest starts heaving, and a warm feeling blossoms under my freezing shirt tells me my wound has reopened slightly. Luckily my wet shirt is dark enough that the blood won't show through. That's the least of my worries now though.   
I immediately recognise this as a panic attack and I groan at the thought. Well, I try to. But I can't seem to make any noise apart from frantic breathing.   
My blurred vision suddenly darkens, and I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the cold concrete floor. My chest tightens and the long, air-filled breaths turn to short, sudden breaths. I feel my head swim and my throat close up as my body heats up under the soaking clothes. If I wasn't essentially submersed in water I am certain I would be sweating.  
I can hear someone call my name again. My dad probably, but I can't tell. Through my watery eyes I can see a figure bend down in front of me and although I can't hear the words, I can tell they're talking to me and that it's urgent. Almost definitely Melissa, with her nursing expertise.   
The simple thought of Melissa is washed away by the wave of panic as I remember what's going on. It's as if the last 12 hours is only just hitting me now. The Nemeton's rebirth or something, the thing that attacked me, what will happen to me, the fact that I was gone a whole month, and that I'm sitting outside my house at 4am panicking while wearing soaking wet clothes. I'm surprised the attack didn't happen sooner to be honest. A darker thought pierces my brain like a nail, what if I'm not myself still? What if the plan didn't work and I'm still the Nogitsune? Or something worse? With all the tricks it played in my head, this is the worst, but the most believable.   
My breathing becomes more erratic as I feel my heart beat irregularly and unconsciousness looms ahead.   
The hopelessness of it all hits me like a punch to the gut. What if I might die, or someone else? After loosing Allison so soon, I doubt we would be able to take it. And I really can't put any more death on my conscience because my mental health will snap like a twig. I couldn't do that it Scott or Lydia. Oh god, what must they be thinking? They must be worried, and I literally have no explanation to give. I don't want to hurt them again but I don't know what's going to happen. We need to rebuild still and I'm going around knocking things down. And we will clearly have our hands full again with the Nemeton and the thing in the woods, and the fact that it once again involves me. This year has been great for us and it's clearly getting better. 

I am about to contemplate the absurdity of it all more, but a hand comes across my face hard, leaving me outraged, but paying attention. I blink quickly, feeling tears dripping down my cheeks as the shape in front of me comes into focus and my cheek stings from the slap. I see Melissa's concerned face two feet away from mine talking slowly, but nothing comes into my ears. All I hear is static.   
I concentrate on her lips and not the sceptical look in her eyes as she keeps her distance, and try to listen to her voice and not my heart beating in my ears.   
"Breathe, Stiles." I hear her whisper. At least I think it was a whisper. For all I know she could be shouting.   
I nod my head and swallow heavily, then force myself to take deep breaths, completely ignoring the ache in my torso.   
After a minute or so, my heart stops pumping at a crazy rate and I can focus clearly now on the sounds and sights around me, like the birds chirping and my dad keeping his distance and looking terrified.   
I can totally understand their apprehension because of the whole Nogitsune situation combined with being gone a month, because hell, at this moment I'm not even sure I'm me. I'm actually 80% sure I'm not me. If not the Nogitune then some other insane supernatural legend. If the situation was reversed I would probably be keeping my distance too. Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt though, seeing my own father back away from me. I look at him, but he doesn't return my gaze, instead choosing to look at Melissa.   
I too snap my attention back to her as I feel warm fingers clasp my wrist to feel my pulse, sending warmth down my shivering arm. When did I try shivering?  
"Okay Stiles, keep breathing and focus on my voice. John-" she yells suddenly, turning around to face the man in the doorway who perks up immediately. "-Get him a glass of water. And a blanket, he's freezing."  
He pauses to look at me as if only seeing me now the first time, and I his eyes fill with unshed tears and guilt, but remains motionless. He looks immensely exhausted, worried and small as he stands there like a frightened child. He opens his mouth, as if preparing to say something, but nothing comes out. If I wasn't choking on air right now I would've sighed at him.   
"John, now!" Melissa yells, and I turn to look at her as he scurries away looking abashed. She looks considerably better, but not all together 'good'. She looks just as worried as he did, and it's not only shown in her face. Even as she's helping me now, she's keeping her distance, she's shaking. Seeing them both standing away from me is like a slap to the face and it's not at all helping with my breathing.  
"Stiles?" She asks cautiously. "Can you hear me?"   
I nod frantically as I try and hold my breath, but end up spluttering and coughing even more. I feel a steady flow of blood dripping down my stomach, but I don't wince, to save face.   
"Good. Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?" She enunciates slowly so that I can understand her, which I would think was a little patronising if I wasn't dying. She shuffles closer to me as she holds up two fingers. Except those two turn to four, then eight. I blink back tears and I focus as the eight fingers mould back into two. I force myself to take several deep breaths, forcing my chest to burn and expand before answering.   
"T- Two.." I stammer out before starting to dry heave. I'm sure if I actually ate something this month it would've come out. 

Thankfully, the heaving managed to kick start my brain, causing my heart to slow down monumentally to account for the lack of oxygen in my lungs.   
This causes my breathing to become less erratic and take in more air. I also become painfully aware of the pain in my chest as it starts bleeding and burning.  
I try and lean on my hands so that I can actually face the floor as my body threatens to turn itself inside out in the most painful way possible, but my arms, still shaking, collapse under my weight. I fall heavily onto my chest, typically, and a yell escapes my lips. I waste no time in flipping myself onto my back, lying down, shivering, in pain and on the verge of tears.   
"Stiles, are you okay?" Melissa asks concernedly. She looks shocked at the outburst, but she could also think that the shout was just a part of the attack, and that's how I'm gonna play it.   
"Yeah, yeah, I'm alright. Just a little panic attack." I force out, straining to sound as fine as possible. I snap my eyes shut tightly as I try and sit up.  
"Little?" She jokes, and I can literally hear the smile in her voice. I make a weird noise between a laugh and a groan. I push against the floor, like a painstakingly slow push-up. I know I should've paid better attention in P.E when they said it could be a part of my life. I flop down once, twice, as I fail to successfully push myself up, but the third time, I manage to shove my knees under me, turn and lean against the wall. Even that takes all my effort, leaving me panting and bleeding and in agony. I am sure she saw me flinch violently and touch my chest, but she doesn't bring any attention to it thankfully.   
"You sure you're okay?" She persists, looking at my pale complexion with worry.   
"Yeah, it's not the worst I've had." Which, actually, is true. The worst was when I saw mom die in front of me, leaving me alone in a big hospital room.   
She still looks skeptical, but she no longer looks like she's scared of me. After a moments deliberation, she leans forward and pulls me into a warm embrace. I immediately wrap my arms around her too and bury my face into her shoulder, finding warmth and safety.   
"I really am glad you're safe." She whispers into my ear, and she has tears in her eyes when she pulls away from me. 

At that moment, dad comes rushing around the corner with a glass full of water and a red blanket, panic clearly etched on his face. He bends down and hands the glass to me so quickly that half the content ends up on my chest, which is actually pretty refreshing and cooling on my sore skin.   
"Oh, god Stiles, I'm sorry. Are you okay?" He rushes out, kneeling on the floor next to me. I drink the remainder of the water slowly, realising that my throat is pretty dry and painful. I guess that's what a month of not drinking does.   
"Dad, don't worry. It's okay. I'm okay." I assure him after swallowing. My voice comes out raw and strained. He adopts Melissa's old look of incredulity and scepticism for a second, turning to look at her. She merely nods at him, and before I know it I'm being hugged for the fourth time in 10 minutes.  
I hear him crying into my shoulder silently, and the enormity of my disappearance finally hits me. There's no thinking what he was thinking all this time.   
"I thought you were gone." He quakes, voice laced with emotion. "I'm glad you're here, I love you."  
My eyes water at these words , and I whisper "I love you" back to him as I envelope my arms around him. He then pulls away, eyes watering and stands up next to Melissa. They both reach out and grab my hands, pulling me to my unsteady feet. Well, foot. I'm not gonna risk limping around them, then they'll know something's up.  
I throw an arm around my dad's shoulder to keep myself steady as he leads me into the house. Melissa crosses the threshold first, then my dad shuffles sideways as there's no room to go two at a time. As I take one step over the frame, it immediately feels like the air turned solid around my leg. I try and move forward, but my whole body gets stuck in the thing, like I'm swimming through mud. My eyes widen in shock as I push against the near-impenetrable wall that was a door hole, then all of a sudden, it gives way and I fall through, landing awkwardly on my damaged leg and almost toppling over, like something just let go of me.  
I look behind me, but see only an empty frame leading to the street outside, with a wet patch where I sat outside. I snap my head back in front to see my dad staring at me.   
"What the hell was that?" I almost yell. Melissa turns to stand next to my dad when she hears me.   
"What?" He questions, confusion on his face.   
"The thing- back there- didn't you-" I stutter weakly, gesturing wildly to the door behind me. They both look behind me, to the empty doorframe, then share a look with narrowed eyes.   
"What?" I wonder. Did they know what that was?  
"We- uh, that is Deaton- did this thing- like with Melissa- to the house." He fumbles, looking at Melissa to help as he scratches the back of his neck.   
"You what?" I ask. What was he saying?  
"Deaton installed like a security system, sweetie, against the supernatural, if you get what I mean. The walls are all filled with-" she completes for him briskly.   
"-Mountain ash.." I breathe, finishing her sentence. That means-  
"So, what, you're a werewolf?" He groans.   
"What, so having a werewolf as a son is such a bad thing?" She laughs, turning to look at him.   
"That's not what I meant." He swallows, turning red in the face.   
"No, no. It's not that." I start uncertainly, cutting across them. "It's probably just an after effect from the possession or something..." I trail off, looking at their questioning faces. It's a feeble reason and I don't even believe it. A werewolf? Possible. I mean, something supernatural attacked me tonight, can't rule out a werewolf. It's not surprising with all the ones roaming the streets. Or woods. Whatever.   
It seems like a reasonable excuse to them though, as they continue walking and lead me to the sofa. They place me down gently before retiring back to their respective seats to stare at me.   
"Even if it is something else, I'm not a werewolf because they can't break through mountain ash. Well, except Scott. But he's like one in a million. Speaking of which, where is he?" I ramble, trying not only to convince myself, but to change the subject too.   
"He's in your room, actually. Do you want me to wake him so you can sleep there?" She asks calmly, moving to get up.   
"NO- No- it's alright." I shout. Scott can't see me right now because he'd smell that blood a mile away. Plus, I don't want to sleep in that room at all. Or sleep at all, really. Any of those things. They both look at me curiously and I realise they probably want a reason.   
"I mean, it's almost 5am, it can definitely wait till morning, plus I can just sleep on the sofa here." I argue, hoping this is enough to persuade them.   
Apparently it is, as they just shrug and lean back. I don't know what's happening but everything is coming up Stiles right now, and honestly it could be because I look like crap or that they think I was kidnapped or something. That actually makes sense. 

After a moment for me to collect my thoughts and plan what I'm gonna say, I begin to plan what story I'll tell them when they ask what happened. Do I lie and say I was kidnapped, or tell the truth, without the painful attack? Or just say that I don't remember?  
"Look, guys." I start, completely unsure about where I'm gonna go with this. "I assume you're gonna want to know what happened this last month-" I pause.   
"Actually, no." Melissa cuts across suddenly.   
"..What?" Me and my dad exclaimed in unison. Apparently he wasn't consulted about this.  
"You don't?" I ask, secretly happy, but thoroughly confused.   
"Well, firstly, that's not completely true. We will want to know what happened, that's obvious." She remarks, putting at least one person at ease. I, however, stiffen up at this news. Uh oh.   
"Secondly, we just don't need to hear it now. You are pale and wet and shivering and you look.." She starts, unable to find the word.   
"...Like hell." My dad finishes for her.   
"Gee, thanks dad." I sarcastically joke, relaxing back as far as my chest allows. At least my leg isn't bleeding for the time being.   
"Well, he's right. You do. You look like you really need sleep and that you might collapse at any given second. Are you sure you're okay?" She inquires, looking, no doubt, at my deathly face. At least they're not beating around the bush.   
"Yeah, fine. I'm fine." I lie. Just as that comes out of my mouth, a cough racks my body, sending a wave of agony to my chest and I groan loudly. They just stare at me.   
"I'm just tired?" I offer, even though sleeping is the last thing on my mind.   
My dad is about to say something, but Melissa puts a hand on his shoulder, and he closes his mouth.   
"Goodnight, sweetie." She whispers, when she walk over and kisses my temple. She walks up the stairs just as dad reaches me.   
"I'm glad you're safe." He says, kissing my forehead. "Try to get some sleep, we'll talk in the morning."   
"You too, dad." I whisper as he turns and follows her. He turns the light off, leaving me alone in the immense darkness. This would be a perfect place for a metaphor for the dark place my life is in, but that would require my life to have been peachy before hand. So, no. Darkness is like second nature to me, this is my life now. 

I don't sleep though. Not that I would be able to sleep anyway. Being asleep for a month really gives you no desire to sleep for, well, for another month.   
I open the curtains to let in the morning light, filling the room with natural light. I rummage around for paper to write down things I will need to look up later on my laptop, which unfortunately is almost definitely in my room, and even if Scott wasn't sleeping there, I have no intention to go there. The stuff I write down is only small things, essentially light reading after the hundreds of things I scoured the internet for the past year. Like spontaneous tree growth, demonic animals, people sleeping for a month after being dragged to a tree stump. You know, light reading. Mostly though, I plan out my story, what I'll tell people and stuff. I've decided to tell the truth to Scott. Or what I think is the truth. I could never really lie to him anyway, and not because of the werewolf hearing. But only up to a point. It's not lying, just omitting certain truths, like being mauled slightly. For dad and Melissa, I'll tell them I don't know, or remember at least. I can't really say I fell asleep for a month, but it's the next best thing. Plus it's true, because I literally have no idea what happened. I'll probably say the same for Lydia too, I can't put her through anything more. But I don't know if I can lie to her after all she went through. I'll see how it goes with the rest.   
I almost count Allison into this, a split second where I forgot she wasn't dead at my hands. That probably means I missed her funeral, too. I was the sole cause of her death, and I slept through her final goodbye. Well that doesn't feel like a punch to the heart.  
I don't count the rest into this, like Derek or Isaac or Ethan, mainly because they probably don't care, didn't notice I was gone at all, or the hate me for killing their friend/girlfriend/twin brother. Either way, it's definitely easier to skip them. 

After that arduous task, I rush to organise the papers in which I wrote everything on with careful planning and descriptions to a neat pile and hide it under the sofa. Probably not the best place to hide it but at this moment I don't have many options.  
When that's done, I lean back onto the sofa, tensing immediately at the stretching in my torso. I lift my almost-dry shirt to survey the damage. The bandages are stained red, but are still holding on. I know I have to change them but that will be very painful and I'm not ready for that again yet. I check my leg too, to see if the mangled ankle is fairing any better. After a quick glance I can say with certainty it is not. This doesn't surprise me due to the fact I have been putting weight on it all day, and it was probably the most damaged to start with, so not really a good move. It's gonna be hell walking around with that for god knows how long. How long does it even take for possible-supernatural demon animal wounds to heal? Not long if it turns you, a small voice in my head whispers slyly.  
"No, I'm going to be fine." I tell myself out loud, hoping it will dispel the hushed voiced in my head. 

I cover my leg again and hoist myself up, feeling a sting in my shoulder and a rushing pain in my chest, not even mentioning my leg.   
I go to open a window, to get some fresh air, when I see a hunched figure walking down the driveway, with what looks like torn clothes and a limp. That's not the thing that grabs my attention, though. It's the pistol in his right hand.   
I pause, before leaping out of sight as the perpetrator glances up at where I was. I don't see his face, as I am already on my way to grab a knife from the kitchen. I know that a knife will do literally nothing against a gun, but I hope that I can somehow run on my mauled leg, bypass the gun, and attack while still being completely silent. This timing is just perfect. Who robs houses anymore anyway?  
I hear the front door being opened, and I take one step before the rushed plan falls to pieces. I stumble in pain over and knock over a lamp that lays by the sofa. The room goes quiet. I swear under my breath before continuing to approach the front door. I can also hear footsteps coming towards me. Unhurried, yet cautious steps.   
I hold my breath and hold the handle tightly, my knuckles turning white as I raise it into an attack position. I hear the distinct noise of a gun cocking over my heart pounding in my ears. I limp over to the corner, the divider between me and the trespasser.   
I take a deep breath and jump out, holding the knife and screaming. The other guy does the same with the gun.   
I look at his face as my hand comes down hard, slashing past the gun.   
I gasp as recognition hits me, and I falter mid-slash.   
It's the person meant to be asleep upstairs.   
It's Scott.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if there's any spelling mistakes, this was a little rushed. hope you enjoy!

“Scott? What the hell?” I yell, dropping my knife to the floor when I see his equally surprised face. It lands with a loud clang, but neither of us pay it any heed. We’re too busy taking each other in.  
Scott looks so different from when I saw him last, the day before I disappeared, a little over a month ago. A month. That still sounds wrong to me. But that gap of time does nothing to explain the mess in front of me. What I left was an alpha, a strong, fearless leader, gone through hell but ready to continue. Not a fearful looking human, which, no offence to me and all other humans, is meant as an insult. His hair is no longer sleek and controlled, but shaggy and unkempt, like it was when he was human. He has blood and dirt and other mysterious stains over his shirt, which used to fit him snuggly, now looks like a burlap sack over his weakened frame. Basically, he looks how I imagine I look.   
Except the face. Apart from the sad looking eyes full of fright and shock, there is a clear problem with his nose. It almost looks broken, swollen around the base, with a crooked look. Not even mentioning the steady trail of blood dripping from his left nostril. His mouth is set in a cross between a snarl and a scream, and the most worrying part is the 9mm pistol still pointed at my chest in his shaking hands.

To be fair to him, it’s perfectly understandable why he is still holding me at gunpoint. There are literally so many reasons; he’s probably trying to sort them all in his head. From the Nogitsune possession to the disappearance so sudden it can hardly be considered a coincidence. The blood I assume that is seeping through my damp clothes on my chest and leg is another reason to be weary. Not to mention that it has been a freaking month since he saw me last and anything could’ve happened in that time, and I just showed up unannounced in his house. My house, I correct myself. But there are so many things from the McCall household lying around, I’m starting to wonder if that’s true anymore.   
It takes me a while to realise that my hands are up over my head, in surrender, like an automatic reaction. The sight seems to make Scott uneasy, but he stays put.   
“Scotty… I know what this might look like-” I mutter, being careful of not making any quick movements, “-But it’s me, the Nogitsune is gone.” I plead, hoping that my voice shows confidence in the words I don’t believe myself. My arms are shaking above my head, but I keep them up there.  
“..Stiles?” He whispers softly, and I just manage to hear it. His voice is strained and he’s clearly weary of what could happen, and probably what has already happened, but I think he’s listening. Well, he’s not shooting and that’s always a plus. But the change in his features is almost instantaneous. The eyes no longer fearful, but hopeful and filling with tears, the mouth no longer set in a grimace, but a faint smile. It’s finally hitting me that he must’ve been affected most by my disappearance. After losing your first love, losing your best friend so soon after with no explanation, this month would’ve been hell for him.   
Next thing I see is him lowering his hands, and I barely have a second to sigh in relief before a muffled laugh echoes out and a weight comes crashing into me, enveloping me in a warm hug. It’s then I realise I’m shivering, and it could be for any reason. Hunger, the wet clothes, or my wounds actually getting to me, causing a fever. Any of those three are plausible.   
When the pressure of the hug pushes against my chest, I wince in pain, and I know that my heartbeat must have spiked. I just hope he’s too busy to notice. I also don’t know how to explain any of this. I was hoping to get some time to clean myself off, get some dry, clean clothes to pretend nothing happened. That plan is all out the window with the blood everywhere.  
It takes a minute for the hug to sink in, and I finally lower and wrap my arms around him too. I hear sniffing at my shoulder, and I can tell he’s crying. My eyes are filling with tears too, but I don’t let them flow, not now. I’ve got to pretend that I’m alright, for Scott. The embrace is comforting, warm, like home and safety, and I don’t want to break it even when I still feel the gun pressing against my back. By my guess, neither does he. It seems we both need this. Screw the pain, screw what happened, just for now.  
“I missed you.” He finally utters, breaking the long silence. He squeezes tighter for a moment before we peel away from each other. He looks at me up and down, as if only seeing me for the first time. His smile falters at the blood, but it stays plastered on his face, wide and happy.   
“I’m really sorry, man.” I tell him, because I really am. There’s no telling what my disappearance did to him, but I can tell it hit him hard, and I feel like crap about putting him through that. After the Nogitsune, after Allison... this is the last thing he needs. The last thing anyone needs. I don’t want to cause any more pain than I already have, to feel any worse than I already do, but it seems inevitable with the events that transpired. I can only hope this will be the end of it. Even if it causes my death, at least I won’t be around to mess things up. Unless I become a ghost, then I’d be really pissed off.  
A frown appears on his face, creasing his features, as if considering my words before continuing softly. “What happened dude? You’ve been gone so long, we had no idea…” He trails off, but I knew what he was going to say. It’s the question I’ve been dreading really. I can’t really evade questioning with a wet shirt dripping with blood, and I can’t lie to him either. We both stand awkwardly in silence, before I sit down on the sofa, motioning for him to do the same. After a second, he complies, still waiting for me to talk. He sits in the green chair opposite me, leaving a table in between us and a lot of tension. He is leaning forward, elbows on his knees, but I’m lying back, getting as far as I can away from him, without actually getting away from him.  
“Scott, it’s a long story...” I start.  
“I’ve got nowhere to be for another-” He checks his watch. “-3 hours.”  
“It’s kinda difficult to explain” I groan.  
“So are werewolves.” He counters. There’s no persuading him.  
“You probably won’t believe me.” I protest quickly.  
“Are you kidding me?” He laughs, leaning back in his chair, causing it to creak loudly. “I won’t believe you? You’re talking to a werewolf, or did you forget?”  
“I know, I know,” I smile, rubbing my face with my hand. “I heard it as soon as I said it. Okay, fine. You win. I’ll tell you.”  
The smile vanishes from his face quickly. “No, Stiles, I was kidding.” He backtracks. “You don’t need to tell me now, just whenever you want. I’m just glad you’re okay.”  
“Scott, stop being so humble.” I joke lightly, making my chest hurt. “I’m telling you what happened so sit your werewolf ass down and listen.” He closes his mouth and smiles, and listens silently. “I wasn’t kidnapped, and I didn’t run away. Well, not technically. I unknowingly ran away, but not that far. I guess going anywhere to escape from your problems is running away, and I had big problems. I didn’t plan on running away, nor did I try to. I guess if you look at it from someone else’s perspective-”   
“Stiles.” He blurts out, trying to drag me back to the problem at hand. He looks bedraggled by my random outburst.  
“Sorry, I haven’t had any Adderall in like a month. Well, like three months. A long time.” I ramble on, unsure if it’s the lack of Adderall doing this or the fact that I’m trying to stall. Probably a touch of both. “Anyway, on the day I disappeared, I went for a walk, to clear my head. Too many bad memories in this place and around town,” I growl in disgust, looking around. It’s still difficult being here now. It all seems too real, too soon. It doesn’t help that I’m unsure if I’m ever still me anymore. “So I just walked to the woods. Not on purpose, though. I just walked, and looked around, then bam! Next thing I see are trees and plants and my favourite jeans getting ripped.” Not that it matters though, with the claw marks and blood, I add silently .I glance at my trousers quickly, to see that they’re faded and torn in many places, especially the leg. I look up at him, to see he is still listening intently. My gaze drops back to my hands, to see that are intertwined and shaking. “Then my legs start doing this weird thing. Like impossibly weird. They start moving-” I murmur.  
“Stiles, I know you and exercise don’t go well together, but that’s a little extreme.”  
“-on their own.” I finish through gritted teeth, glaring at him as his eyebrows rise in surprise. “I was just standing still, and then my legs were like ‘hey! Let’s freak Stiles out by walking over there!’ I tried anything to stop it, but like, the more I struggled, the harder it was to breathe. Like there was a hand around my heart. But I couldn’t stop walking, and I started to panic and move and then I stopped being able to breathe altogether. My feet came to a stop, and before anything else happened, I collapsed. Lack of oxygen, probably. Unless someone knocked me out somehow. It wouldn’t surprise me. Then I wake up, walk back here and it’s a month later and I don’t even know what happened.” I rush, finishing the story suddenly so that he can mistake my elevated heartbeat for panic instead of lies. Although, I technically didn’t lie, I just skipped a few details, like the Nemeton and the attack.  
I look up at him, and he still looks shocked. “Stiles, you walked... without meaning to? And you’ve been unconscious this whole time?” He asks, concern laced clearly in his voice.  
“Yeah, it was like someone was in control of my legs, making me go where they wanted, like some sort of puppet. And I think so. I don’t remember anything between the collapsing and waking up, so I think so.”  
“Are you sure the Nogitsune-” He questions slowly, leaning forward again and lowering his voice.  
“Yes! Well, mostly. Not really. I mostly just said that so you wouldn’t shoot me. But I can’t rule it out, because this has all felt too good to be true, like one of its traps. But Scott, I need you to believe it’s actually me, I need someone to have some sort of faith in me. If someone thinks it, then maybe I can, maybe I can-” I stammer, unable to keep going. Before I realise what’s happening, Scott is sitting next to me, rubbing my shoulder comfortingly.  
“Stiles, shh, it’s okay, don’t worry. I believe you. I am 100% sure this is all you.” He assures me. I don’t know if he’s lying, but I don’t really care. I really do need to hear those words, to have some hope.  
“Thanks Scott. Really. And I’m sorry for putting you through all this.” I urge.  
“This isn’t your fault. Don’t blame yourself for this. Or for the Nogitsune. None of this is your fault. Just remember that.” He insists, rubbing small circles into my back. “Why are you so wet though? Plus what’s with the blood on your shirt? Are you hurt?” He questions softly.  
“It must’ve rained while I was passed out of the floor I guess.” I lie quickly. “Also, I think I just landed awkwardly on a rock when I collapsed. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” He narrows his eyes after I answer, but says nothing more. “Hey, what did I miss? What happened when I was face-down in the middle of nowhere?” I try and joke, but it comes out sadder than expected.  
“Well you missed the funeral. It was the day you disappeared.” He mutters solemnly.  
“Oh, no, I didn’t ruin the funeral did I?” I wince, thinking at how bad that would be. Ruined her life, ruined her death. Great timing, Stiles.  
“Uh, no. We thought it was odd you weren’t there, but not altogether surprising. Your dad didn’t realise until that night, and he asked us about it the next morning.” He explains sheepishly. I sigh in relief. “But after that, I spent every day out looking for you, trying to find a scent, anything. Your dad sent out an APB to tell people to be on the lookout for a teenager matching your description, and worked with the police. Lydia.. Lydia needed something to occupy herself, so she did research. I’m not certain what on, but it was supposed to help, and it took most of her time. The rest of her time she spent with me, or with Derek. He’s also been helping around, searching the preserve and other places, you know. He’s actually been really helpful these last few weeks, to me and to Lydia.” He explains, leaning back on the arm of the sofa so that he can face me. “It- It hasn’t been easy. For anyone. It was-” He shakes his head. “I’m just glad you’re back. We all will be. We could all use a win right about now.”  
I sit for a moment, just considering his words. The news about Derek helping surprises me, but in a good way, I’m glad he was here for Scott. He must’ve seen how bad Scott and Lydia were feeling, and felt obligated to help them in any way, even if it meant losing his days to trudge through a forest to save someone he doesn’t really like. “Derek? Helping? That must’ve taken some persuading.” I laugh. “But what about the others? Like Kira or Isaac?” I ask, as he didn’t mention them before.  
“Actually, he offered to help, you know. He was worried about you. He trusts you, he likes you, and you’re pack, so of course he’d help.” He notes in a confused voice before shuffling awkwardly in his seat. “Kira’s great. She gave me a little space after, you know, the funeral, but after she found out you were gone, she was over almost every day, trying to do something. She’s learning to control her powers too, her mom’s teaching her. And Lydia and I went back to school last week, so she’s been helping us integrate back into society, helping us cope without our best friends, and helping us catch up with school work. Well, she helped me catch up. Lydia always seems to be on top of the work.” He snickers.   
“What about Isaac? How’s he been holding up?” I ask quickly, trying to ignore the guilt building up in my chest. He’s also the one I’m most worried to see, because he’s the most likely to rip my throat out over what happened with Allison.   
“Well, Isaac is gone.” He mumbles finally.  
“Gone?” I splutter loudly, shocked at the information. I then realise how loud I was, and I lower my voice, as to make sure the people upstairs stay asleep. “Gone where?”  
“Yeah, he left a day after the funeral, with Mr Argent back to France.”  
“Oh.” I exclaim. Another repercussion of the Nogitsune. What else did I ruin? “What about the box with the Nogitsune in it?” Part of me wants to know if the fly is even still in there, but the other part wants it out of this country, so we’ll never have to see it again.  
“Deaton has it. Isaac kept hold of it for a bit, but after the funeral, he handed it over. I don’t think he could handle looking at that thing every day and not do anything about it.” He informs me, and I curse silently. I hate that it’s still here, still in the city that it ravaged. I see Scott watching me in my peripheral vision, but he says nothing more. I silently wonder what would happen if you killed it. I mean it’s only a fly, how hard would it be? Maybe it still has some sort of connection to me, because of the fact I’m still alive, or because of the Nemeton or something. What would happen if I died? Would it affect it at all? My eyes pull towards the 9mm lying on the table, as if it’s a normal addition, like a vase or something.   
“Hey, that reminds me. What’s with the gun?” I ask, motioning towards the table. He’s a werewolf, isn’t he? Why would he need a gun? Plus the whole ‘Scott McCall save everybody’ routine, it just seems out of place. He is staring at me, probably trying to decipher how I came to think about the gun on the table. Or he’s thinking of a lie. If it’s the second thing, he’s failing to make it subtle.  
“It was Derek’s idea.” He reveals finally, moving to pick it up. He seems confident in holding it, like he’s used it many times. He flicks the safety on, before setting it on the sofa to the side of him. “He said if you got kidnapped, the chances are they would be getting information on the pack, and I should carry it round just in case they ever showed up. They never did.” He adds, staring at the gun.  
“But a gun? Why not use you werewolf powers to throw the non-existent kidnappers to the next state?” I joke, watching his expression change from apprehension to worry as guilt continues to gnaw at my insides.  
“I’ve sort of been having… troubles… with my powers recently. Lack of control was a real problem.” He sighs, watching my jaw drop with unasked questions. Before any tumble out of my mouth, he explains. “You know how Allison stopped being my anchor? Well I tried to be my own anchor, control the shifts myself, be more confident, all that. This worked, for around a couple of weeks. But then the Darach started killing, and I felt completely helpless trying to stop her, unable to do anything, unable to save anyone. We just found the bodies. That made me lose hope, and I felt like I lost another anchor. I had no faith in myself, and it just didn’t work.” He pauses, fingering the gun, moving it from hand to hand. “But, the night on the roof of the hospital, the night the Darach took my mom... you remember that night?” He inquires suddenly, causing me to nod eagerly. It was hard to forget that night, with all that was happening. Cora almost dying, my dad gone, Scott’s mom being takes, Scott joining Deucalion... it was all a nightmare. “Well, that was the night I’d chosen my new anchor. It was you, Stiles.”  
“What?” I cough out. Me? An anchor? Unreliable, impulsive, stupid me?  
“Yeah, you. I don’t know why I didn’t use you as anchor before to be perfectly honest. You never left my side, you always agreed with me, you’ve saved me in more ways than I can count. When I found things difficult, I just thought of you, how you’d help if you were there, or offer a snarky reply, and it would always bring me back. You’re my brother Stiles, and you’ve always helped me. Even when you weren’t there.” He confesses shakily, as if waiting my reaction with bated breath.  
“Scott, buddy. I know this is a big thing for you, but do you still think I can be your anchor? I can’t even look at myself in a mirror without freaking out, I can’t even imagine what you think when you look at me.” I whisper, avoiding his eyes. “And why was it that night you chose to use me as an anchor? Like wasn’t that the night you chose to join Deucalion?”  
“Right now I’m thinking how much of an idiot you’re being” He laughs. “And I also think that I’m so happy that you’re back and unharmed, because this month has really been hell for me. After losing you, I just lost complete control of the shift. It was the last straw. It’s worse than when I was first bit. I felt ill all the time, I couldn’t eat, I was just so worried. I spent basically the whole month out looking for you, and a little part of me broke every time I found nothing. Do you know what that’s like? To depend on someone so much one day and having them gone the next? So yeah, I think you can still be my anchor. You were with me, that night, on the rooftop with Deucalion. You saw me completely defeated, but you still fought to help me, and I realised how much that meant to me.” He protests gently. “But, hey Stiles, look at me.” He urges, motioning me to look at his eyes. “I don’t blame you for what happened. I never have or ever will. Neither does anyone else. You are not at fault here.”  
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t feel them. It used my body, and now they’re my memories. I remember killing those people, I remember twisting that sword in your gut, and I remember liking it.” I shudder, reliving those memories. They haunt me whenever I close my eyes, a constant reminder of how I ruined things. Sure, it was the Nogitsune that masterminded the whole thing, but it was my hands that did the killing, and I remember that constantly. If only I was stronger, then none of this would’ve happened. Allison would still be here.  
“You just have to know that we know it wasn’t you, we all know. You just have to believe it yourself.” He sighs, thus ending the discussion. I turn to look out the window, seeing birds fly past as the sun rises higher and higher. A Crow caws above when a memory comes crashing back to mind.  
“Hey, Scott, I was just thinking. What were you even doing out this late anyway? And what’s with the blood and the nose?”  
“I was uhh, out looking for you and I fell over. Must’ve landed on my face or something.” He laughs nervously, like he’s hiding something.  
“You were out looking for me until 6am?”  
“Well, not really. Most of that time I spent with Lydia. Her powers have been growing, and she screamed tonight. But after that, yeah. I went looking for you.”  
“Lydia screamed? When?” I panic. Doesn’t she scream when someone is about to die?  
“I don’t know the exact time. Midnight I guess? Actually it was probably closer to 1am.” He groans, rubbing his eyes.  
“And does it usually take that long in the night when you look for me?” I ask guiltily, trying to change the subject. She screamed around the same time I woke up. That can’t be a coincidence.  
“Not usually, no. But I thought I heard something in the woods-”  
“You were in the woods tonight?” I interject suddenly. How did he not see or hear me?  
“-Yeah, I was actually, near the preserve. I thought I heard something so I stuck around to see if something was there. Then Deaton called me about a break-in or something.” He finishes with a yawn.  
“What?” I gasp, feigning ignorance. I knew I heard Deaton. God, what if he saw me? Would he tell Scott?  
“I don’t know the details, but yeah, a couple of stuff missing. I mean, who robs a vet?” He laughs, and I join in, but it was forced laughter. There would be a lot of explaining to do if Deaton actually did see me.   
We fall quiet after that, both just listening to the noiseless house. “It was probably me, you know.” I mutter after a while.  
“What?” He inquires.  
“The sound in the preserve, that was probably me. I figured I was somewhere around there, and it was around that time.” I explain slowly, careful as to not let anything slip. “Hey, this is gonna sound really stupid to you, but what day is it today?” I question, because I’ve been trying to figure it out, but I haven’t known the date for a while so there would be nothing to count back from. I mean, I doubt the Nogitsune kept a calendar.  
“It’s Thursday morning.” He laughs.  
“Wait, so do you and Lydia have school today?” I query sadly. I was hoping to spend more time with Scott and go see Lydia.  
“Dude, do you really think I would go to school in a couple of hours, knowing that you’re back?” He comments seriously. “Even if I did, the school’s closed today. Someone cut the power, everything is off.”   
“That never stopped the school before.” I shudder, thinking back to when I electrocuted Isaac in the hospital, causing everything to lose power.  
“That’s because last time it happened, the whole of Beacon Hills was out of power. This time someone specifically targeted the school, and they think something else could happen.” He shrugs. Someone is attacking the school? What if it was-  
“Stiles, I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t you. You said you remembered everything the Nogitsune did, and you said it yourself, you were unconscious in the woods the whole time.” He assures me.  
“But I don’t know that. All I know is I fell asleep and woke up in the same place. Anything could have happened in between.” I protest, knowing that we can’t rule it out.  
“I know it wasn’t you, okay. There are thousands of people living here, it could’ve been any of them, and you have an alibi. Plus, your dad has plastered your face on every street corner, do you really think you would have been able to walk to the school and back without anyone seeing you?”  
“I guess.” I reason, but I have a feeling it was something to do with me. A niggling feeling in the back of my mind. I know Scott knows I’m still sceptical about the matter by the disapproving glance he sends to me. He would’ve had a good point if I hadn't walked from the Nemeton to my house unnoticed earlier. “Hey, can we go see Lydia today?” I propose, wanting to change the subject.  
“Yeah,” He nods. “I was just thinking that. She’s been really down recently, she could do with a win. You should go see Derek, too.”  
“Derek?” I groan. I’m really not in the mood to get thrown into a wall today.  
“Yes, Derek. He’s actually been worried about you. He’s your friend and you should at least go tell him you aren't dead.” He demands.  
“Whoa, look at you being all assertive. You know how I find power very sexy.” I joke, sliding closer to him on the sofa.  
“Stiles, don’t be an ass.” He laughs, throwing a cushion at my face.   
“Right, so Lydia and Derek. Anyone else I should add to the list of people I need to see?” I ask, after throwing the cushion back at him. He catches it and places it back down.  
“Kira will want to see you, but she’s coming over here later, so you can do that after. Plus Malia, she keeps asking about you.”  
“Malia?” I mutter in incredulity. “She’s still hanging around?” Last time I saw her, she was tied up in Eichen house after I let the Nogitsune back in.  
“Yeah, she joined our school, and she tags around a lot. She clings to Lydia mostly, on the count of her being, what, 10 years behind on work?” He humours.   
“Nine, actually.” I counter. “God, how is everyone gonna react to me being back? I mean, you’re my closest friend and you almost shot me in the chest.”  
“That’s what you’re worried about? They’re gonna be so happy that you’re back. And in my defense, the only reason I was pointing a gun at you was because I thought you were a burglar or something.” He assures me, and I feel a genuine smile warm my face at his words.  
“As long as you can promise me there will not be another gun in my face in the next 24 hours.” I joke.  
“Actually, Derek’s more of a throw-you-out-a-window kind of guy.” He laughs.  
“Somehow I don’t doubt that happening.”  
“But seriously, don’t worry. They’ll be so happy to see you back. I promise nothing bad will happen.” I feel comforted by Scott’s words, and I lie back to consider them. Will they all be happy to see me? Sure Lydia will be surprised, and may be swept up in the moment, but in the end I killed her friend, and how will she forgive me? Derek I know is a liability, and I’ve already decided that it will find a way to end disastrously.  
Scott stands up suddenly next to me. “Hey, let’s go get some breakfast. You hungry? I could eat. Let’s go to Denny’s.” He almost shouts out of the blue. He’s looking around the room as he says it, as if trying to find something.  
“Really Scott? Now? My clothes are still damp and uncomfortable, your clothes are muddy and torn, and your nose is broken. Not to mention we both look like someone threw buckets of blood over us.” I protest. Plus I have no desire to eat at all, which can’t be a good sign.  
“You look like you need food, and I definitely need food. And it’s a celebration. You’re back and not dead and we need to go out.” He states, as he holds out his hand for me to grab it. Against my better judgement, I do, and he heaves me up to me feet, causing my leg to shake under the pressure and the pain. I swing my other hand out to grab the side of the sofa so I can lean on it. Scott is watching me with suspicious eyes.  
“Off balance. Sorry. Anyway, sure. Let’s go eat. But- uh- can you drive? I kinda lost my keys… and my jeep.” I confess, it only hitting me now that I have no idea where my car is. Because it isn't outside where I thought I left it a month ago. I turn back to him as he watches me look around the room for any indication of where my keys are.  
“Sure..” He hesitates. “We’ll take my mom’s car. We’ll be back before she realises, so hopefully no scolding for either of us.” He smiles in a wolfish expression, before turning to head out.  
“One thing before we go though-” I cut across, causing him to turn around. I step forward and wrap my arms around him suddenly, initiating the hug. He doesn't hesitate to do the same. “Thanks for being here and helping me, I really needed this.” I murmur into his shoulder. I feel my eyes well up with tears, but I push them down.  
“Dude, believe me. There’s nothing to be thankful for. I needed this as much as you. I have been driving myself crazy, and it’s just so good to have you back. I finally have my anchor back.” He smiles.  
“And one last thing?” I cough, pulling away from him and brushing my eyes.  
“What?”  
“Uh, your mom and my dad?” I question. I noticed it when I first got here, they’re closer. I guess being the parents of best friends, it’s hard not to get close, but that seemed a little more than friendly. Plus she’s sleeping here? When did that happen?  
“I know.” He whispers seriously, as if worried they’ll hear, his eyes wide open. “I have no idea when it started, but after you disappeared, we just moved in, no questions asked. At first I thought it was a friend-helping-friend thing, but it seemed like more, y’know? Plus,” He whispers, voice dropping ever lower. “They share a bed.”  
My jaw drops at this news. “What?” I gasp, but there’s a ghost of a smile on my lips. It wouldn't be too bad having Scott living here.  
Scott recognises the smile and grins immediately. “I know, right? I’m so happy. It took them long enough.” He laughs, before turning to head out.  
As he crosses the threshold, completely uninterrupted, I remember something. “Hey Scott, how come you just walked in? I mean, what about the mountain ash?” I ask casually, trying not to flinch too much as I follow him through the door. I close my eyes and take one step, sighing loudly in relief as it sails over, smoothly landing on the other side. Scott turns back to glance at me, but I turn my back to close the door. The crisp morning air is really calming, but there’s a slight chill in the air as we head over to the car.  
“It’s remote controlled.” He explains, revealing a sleek black contraption with a single red button on it. “Deaton made it specifically.”  
“Looks complicated.” I smirk sarcastically.  
“Yeah, well, shut up.” He counters weakly, but he’s smiling. “All it does is lift a small portion of the mountain ash, effectively breaking the circuit. It’s like the thing we did in physics with the bulb and electricity and wires, remember? Break the circuit, break the connection.” He states, pressing the button once before pocketing the device.   
“Gotta give Deaton credit, he can be pretty clever when he wants to be.” I whistle.   
“I hope he’s alright.” He falters, his hand on the car door handle after clicking it open. “Maybe we could go see him later?”  
“Sure.” I smile weakly, before sliding into the soft car seat and staring through the window. Hopefully he doesn't make any connection between the two incidents last night.  
“But first,” He continues, as he takes his place next to me, shaking the car slightly under his weight. “Denny’s. And then,” He starts the ignition, and the car shakes even more, “We go see Lydia.”

11 minutes of driving later led us to Denny’s, which was empty except for a kid from the other school in Beacon Hills that has been lucky enough to avoid all death and destruction, a middle-aged woman that looked pretty late for work, and this almost catatonic old man who just stared at his pancakes, taking a small bite every minute or so. We take a window seat, and Scott orders about three different pancake types and bacon, and I order a single pancake. I didn't want anything to begin with, but we’re already here and I can’t really say no. Both the waitress and Scott stare at me when I order, but not as much as the staff stared when we first walked in. Two teenagers covered in tattered clothing and blood? It’s bound to draw some attention here and there. I’m pretty sure I heard one of them talking about phoning the police. I simply shrug at them both, because what really could I say?  
Scott inhales the whole plate the time it took me to eat half of the singular pancake sitting in front of me. I’m sure on any other day, it would look appetizing as hell and taste amazing, but all I see is a bland looking thing that tastes like nothing. Actually, worse than nothing. It has the distinct taste of dirt. I can feel Scott’s eyes on my, so I shove the rest into my mouth and swallow it down quickly, before standing up. The chill has seemed to follow us in here, and unfortunately all I have on is a t-shirt. Thankfully, it’s dry now, but my trousers are still wet and I am really feeling the cold. Another good thing is that I gradually got used to the pain in my leg and chest, so if I’m stationary, I don’t feel as much like crap. Walking is still an issue, though.  
“Hey, Scott, can I borrow your jacket? It’s as cold as hell in here.” I shiver, motioning to his gray jacket discarded on the side of the table.  
He eyes me suspiciously before handing me the jacket, and I don’t know why. “Are you kidding? It’s like 70 degrees out there. But sure, here you go.” He says, tossing his jacket over. That explains his suspicious glance, I think miserably as I continue to shiver.

Another 9 minutes later, and we’re parked outside her house. I can feel the anxiety building and I glance over at Scott who puts his hand on my shoulder reassuringly. I look at the digital clock in the car. It’s 7:58.  
“Are you sure she’s awake?” I ask nervously, hoping for any excuse to come back later.  
“Yeah, she’s in her bedroom.” He says after a moment’s pause. Probably listening for her heartbeat.  
“Couldn't it be her mom?” I swallow.  
“She’s out of town this week. And last week. And probably next week.” Scott mutters, shaking his head. I can tell what he’s thinking, about how she shouldn't be alone at this time, or how she‘s shouldn't be alone at night, which are both fair, especially if there’s something new in the woods.  
“Can’t we-” I start, before Scott cuts across me.  
“Stiles, she’s gonna be happy to see you, there’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ll be right behind you the whole time. Now suck it up and get out there.” He states, looking at the dark house. I nod to him and open the car door.   
A rush of freezing air flows into the car, and I cling to the jacket tightly, before stepping out onto shaky legs. A bolt of pain shoots up my leg, but I ignore it. My breakfast threatens to make a reappearance, but I push it down, as I do with my anxiety which is still growing. I slam the car door behind me, and turn to look at Scott who does the same. He walks around the car until he’s standing next to me and facing the house. He takes a step forward as I do, and we walk together to the front door. We reach the old wooden door and he motions for me to press the doorbell. I swallow and push it lightly, jumping as the harsh buzzing rings in my ears.   
“Stiles, breathe. Don’t worry, I am right here and it’s gonna be fine.” He whispers next to me, as we both hear the sounds of feet tumbling down the stairs.  
“Scott,” We hear from behind the door as a bolt gets opened. “How many times do I have to tell you, there’s no school-“ She falters as the door swings open, and she’s not looking at Scott, but the person who’s been gone a month. Her eyes seem slightly unfocused as they stare right into mine. She turns to look at Scott, who’s smiling shyly, before turning back to me. She’s got her strawberry blond hair in a loose bun at the top of her head, leaving strands to fall over onto her face. I want to lean forward to tuck them behind her ears with the rest, but I swallow the urge.  
I open my mouth to say something, anything, like “Hey! Sorry I've been gone a month!” or some other flimsy response that will do nothing to better the situation. But before a single sound escapes my lips, she comes crashing forward into me, pushing me back a few feet as she hugs me tightly. I close my mouth and grip her tightly too. She smells like apples, I note.”Stiles, where the hell have you been?” She yells a moment later, as she pulls away, her eyes full of tears. She hits me in the arm, and I smile. This is the Lydia I remember. “And why are you smiling?” She hisses.  
“Sorry, Lydia.” I mutter quickly, shaking my hands as I look at her pale face. “It’s a long story- can we come in?” I ask, as I start to shiver more. The cold is really getting to me, and I don’t understand why Scott can walk around in a shirt. Probably a werewolf thing.  
“Yeah, sure.” She sniffs, sidestepping to allow us to go through. I can see her staring at my face as I walk past her, but I keep watching straight ahead, trying to avoid her scrutinizing glare. I turn left at the first door to go to the big living room and take a seat on one of the chairs. Lydia follows, and Scott brings up the rear, closing the door behind us. She looks tired, and I know I would've been the cause of many sleepless nights, I think guiltily. They sit next to each other on the leather sofa and look at me expectantly. Scott’s face is more of an encouragement compared to Lydia’s face of mixed emotions, a constant flicker between happiness, worry and anger.  
“Right, so.” I clear my throat, before leaning forward and putting my elbows on my knees. “Do you want the whole story?”   
“Do I want the story of where you've been for a month?” She scoffs, folding her arms across her chest.   
“Right, yeah, sorry. Of course you do.” I state, rubbing my wrist nervously. “It’s not much of an excuse, and I doubt you’d like it…” I start, only to be met by her pleading look. “Well, the day I disappeared, the day of the funeral,” I continue, ignoring the way they both flinch at the mention of the funeral. “I took a walk, and ended up in the woods. I don’t know how I got there, but it’s like something drew me to the preserve. But, all at once, I couldn't breathe. I don’t know what it was, just that it was an icy feeling around my heart, and I- I just collapsed.” I finish quickly.  
“Then what?” She asks after a moment of silence.  
“Then I woke up. Then I walked home. Then I realised that it’s been a month, and here I am.” I sigh. I feel really crappy for lying to them both, and I have to keep reminding myself that it’s for their safety.  
“You've been unconscious for a month… in the woods? Is that even possible?” She questions suddenly.  
“That’s the question I was hoping to ask you.” I answer calmly. I was planning on asking her if someone can be unconscious for a month and wake up fine. Or the being drawn the woods, or the heart-stopping feeling. I was gonna ask a lot of things.  
“I wasn't talking to you,” She says softly, turning to Scott. “You were out in those woods every night looking. Is it even possible you missed him?” I listen intently as he considers his answer, because if he says no, then there’s no doubt that I’m no longer myself.  
“Well, I was thinking that on the way over here. I didn't really look past every tree, I mostly just waited and listened for any heartbeats or the smell of blood or something.” He admits sadly.   
“That,” I confess, raising my hand. “May be my fault. When I collapsed, I kinda felt my heart... y’know, stop. “I groan, waiting for the outburst form the both of them.  
“What?” They both gasp a moment later. “How did you feel your heart stop?” Scott cries.  
“Well, at this moment I was on the floor, and I could hear my heart pounding, and feel it against my chest. Then, all of a sudden, it stopped. I couldn't hear or feel it. Then I passed out.”  
“So...” She pauses, considering my words. “That means you weren't unconscious for a month… it means-” She starts in a horrified voice.  
“-I was dead.” I finish for her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god i'm so sorry this took ages jeez at least it's up now  
> also please leave feedback because it would be appreciated and if there are any mistakes feel free to tell me  
> enjoy guys

The room is silent after my words. I’m not even certain what kind of silence is, but it’s horrible. It’s like awkward mixed with horrified and they’re both just staring at me like the thing I just said was so unbelievable. How else can they explain the fact Scott couldn’t find me? It’s not like a needle in a haystack, it’s a person in the forest. I should at least count as a bundle of 50 needles at least.   
I was thinking the whole “being dead” thing on the car ride over here, it only just occurring to me then that what happened in my last moment of consciousness wasn’t just my imagination, and my heart actually could’ve stopped. But that begs the question-  
“How are you here now then?” Lydia mutters, cutting across my thoughts, and the awkward silence. She was saying it to herself mostly, but we both heard her. I can see Scott looking frantically between the two of us, trying to make someone tell him what is going on.  
“Stiles, what the hell? I think you failed to add that detail before!” He shouts at me, but I think he’s more surprised than sad. I mean, he has no reason to be sad because I’m not dead anymore.  
“It honestly didn’t occur to me until the car ride over here, and I was just hoping I wouldn’t need to bring it up at all. The only reason I said it at all is because I didn’t want you to blame yourself.” I shrug, like it’s no big deal. Scott looks at me like I just hit him.  
“How are you so calm about this?” He asks, in a considerably lower voice.  
“Well, I’m almost 100% sure it happened, and if it did, I know that I’m alive now, so there’s no major problem.” I confess slowly, minding my words. The truth is, I have no idea why I’m so calm, because the Nemeton clearly did something, and there isn’t a single doubt in my mind that it happened now.  
“How do you know it happened?” Lydia asks loudly, just as Scott opens his mouth to say something else.  
“I know I was awake, and I know I could hear my heart pounding. It sounded like a drum, and it was erratic and fast, then nothing. Like it wasn’t a gradual fade-to-nothing sound, it was there one second and gone the next. It was a good few seconds before I finally lost consciousness, and I vividly remember it.” I say, hoping my voice shows the conviction that I feel. Lydia seems convinced, but still confused by it. Scott looks like he’s about to protest, but he can’t find the words. “Look, Scott. I know you want me to say that nothing happened, but it did, and I’m fine! You can hear my heartbeat, right?” I motion to him, and he nods, albeit a little slowly. “That means I’m alive, and that’s all that matters right now. Look at me, I’m here, and I am fine, and you don’t need to worry about it. If something worse comes of it, I’ll tell you. But until then, don’t worry.” I plead, looking at his eyes as he stares at me, still looking sad and distressed, but the feelings look significantly muted.   
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Lydia questions, as she gets up and walks over to me. She kneels by my chair and takes my hand. “I mean, there’s no telling what happened out there, and you’re really pale and freezing… plus is that blood on you?”  
“I’m fine Lydia, it’s probably just, I don’t know, an after effect of dying.” I smile, as I put my other hand over hers and look at her worried face. I immediately feel the heat from her spread through my hand. “I doubt it will last long. But what about you? Scott told me your powers are getting stronger? What did I miss?” I ask, changing the subject quickly.  
“You’re asking me if I’m okay? I’m not the one who died for a month and is clearly lying about how their feeling.” She tells me as she rubs my arm with her other hand. This feels nice. I could do without the look of worry though.  
“So what if I’m a little cold? Or if I’m slightly pale? It’s better than the alternative of being, you know, dead. I want to know what it was like in land of the living, is that too much to ask?” I whine, pulling my hands away so I can reshuffle the seat to face her Scott and her better. He’s just sitting there, watching us with curiosity. I throw mild profanities at him in my mind at his quiet judging.  
Lydia gets up from next to me, and I feel the air get sucked out of my lungs as the cold returns. I stifle a cough, and they both glance at me. I shrug, and she shakes her head and hugs me, it’s a light and comforting embrace, and I hear her whisper in my ear; “I really missed you, Stiles.”  
The delicate hug lasts longer than anticipated, and it’s only broken apart when Scott coughs loudly. Lydia and I both laugh as we break apart, and she goes back to sit by Scott, who looks only slightly uncomfortable by the exchange.   
“Well, as you probably know,” She informs us, in a positive tone. “I screamed last night. I was asleep one second, and the next I was screaming. The only other thing I remember is that I dreamt about a wild animal, or something, I don’t know, it was pretty dark and vague. But, no one is dead, so that’s always a plus. No one is dead, right?” She questions, turning to Scott, who rubs her eyes tiredly.   
“I was out there all night, I didn’t see anything.” He confirms. I hear her sigh in relief, but the way they share a look tells me they’re hiding something.  
“Is that it?” I ask politely, hoping that they’re not making the connection between her screaming and me waking up.  
“Well...” He hesitates, sharing the same look with her again. I study them both closely, noting how reluctant they are to talk. I imagine they got really close over this past month, under the circumstances. They both needed a friend, it makes sense.  
“-I’ve been hearing voices.” She finishes, glancing over to Scott quickly. “I mean, not just when I scream, all the time.”  
“Voices? What kind of voices?” I wonder, caught off guard by the remark. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.  
“I- I don’t know.” She stammers. “There are just so many of them, all the time. I can barely understand them, and even when I can, it’s mostly gibberish.” She mutters, verging on tears.  
“Wait, can you hear them now? Do you know what they’re saying?” I panic. Who knows what they could be telling her. About me, about what happened. I see Scott glance at me in my peripheral vision, and I try and compose myself.   
“I can hear them now, I just have no idea what they’re saying. Sometimes I feel like I hear something familiar, but then there’s nothing.” She grimaces. “I’m lucky now though that they’re quiet. It’s like they’re waiting for something, but I could use the silence. It can get pretty loud.”  
I nod numbly as Scott rubs her arm comfortingly. Her powers are growing, it’s only a matter of time until she figures out what happens. It’s a bittersweet moment really, because she’ll be understanding her powers better, and she’ll actually get round to saving people, but it’ll also bring out the news of the mysterious attacker, maybe even the-  
“Crap!” I exclaim involuntarily, all thoughts of the Nemeton’s re-growth crashing back to my mind like a train. I stand up suddenly, feeling my chest rip slightly and my foot shake under my weight. Scott and Lydia snap their eyes towards me, with fear evident on their face.  
“Stiles? What is it?” He asked, standing up too, looking around wildly.  
I stare at them both, realising how stupid that was, thinking frantically for a response. “I- uh, I need to go see Derek. And Deaton. Not necessarily together.” I wince, only slightly because of the pain, as I sit back down slowly. Lydia still looks worried, but Scott looks confused.  
“About what?” He blanks, still standing.  
“Not about anything. Just, you know, in general. I should see them, tell them I’m not dead. Anymore.” I backtrack, fumbling with my hands as I feel them both stare at me.  
“…Right. Do you mean now?” He questions awkwardly, sharing a look with Lydia.  
“Uhh, no. Just in general.” I swallow, looking to see a sceptical look on both their faces. I really don’t blame them for not believing me. I seem to have lost the capability to make quick remarks. I just hope I still have my sarcasm. It’s all I have.  
“And that merited a scream?” Lydia asks sarcastically.  
“Hey, I didn’t scream. I shouted very manly-ly, alright?” I debate.  
“You screamed.” Scott laughs, sitting down next to her again. There’s a slight pause before he continues. “Are you sure that’s all it was?”  
“Yes, I’m sure. I’m just a little shaken up still after being asleep for a month. Or dead. Same thing.” I lie. I hate lying to Scott, and I know it almost never works, but I have to try anyway. Plus, because he can’t smell my blood by the looks of it, I’m assuming his wolf powers are messed up and I’m hoping that will stop him from listening to my heartbeat.  
It looks like he’s happy with the response, or at least he didn’t hear the lie. I’m not actually sure that he heard me at all really, because he’s too busy getting his phone out of his pocket.   
“Aw, hell.” He mutters. “I forgot to cancel with Kira.” He wrestles his phone out of his dirty jeans, and I hear the buzzing.  
“Wait, what time is it?” I turn to Lydia quickly, only now noticing how light it is outside.  
“It’s close to 10am.” She yawns, just as Scott answers his phone. 10am? I should probably go home soon, talk with dad. But I need to go see Deaton first, check if everything is alright, and, on top of that, I need to go see Derek.  
“Hey, Kira, look I can’t- Yeah, hey about that, I can’t meet you today.” He rushes, talking into his phone. He stands up and walks to the other side of the room before continuing. “I know, I’m sorry, it’s just Stiles is back.” He says quieter, and I can actually hear the grin in his voice. He turns to look at me, and I see the wide smile plastered on his face. I try to smile back, but I can feel it doesn’t reach my eyes. “What- Yeah, actually, it was. How did you-?” He pauses, with a frown on his face. He glances back at me and my heart stops for a second. What does Kira know? “It’s okay, I’m sorry. How about a rain check?”  
“Hey, Scotty?” I shout at him, getting his attention. “You should go meet her.” I tell him. He opens his mouth to argue, but I beat him to it. “Look, you’ve had a long day, and you could use some relaxing, plus I’ve got a load of things to do, and I doubt you’d want to be babysitting me all day.” I argue. It’s not that I don’t want him here, it’s just it’s only a matter of time before his werewolf powers kick in and he smells my blood, and I’m not ready for that conversation yet.  
“You’ve only just got back, man.” He pleads, putting his hand over the phone, blocking the sound.  
“I know, and I’m not going anywhere.” Hopefully, I add silently.  
He still looks fairly unconvinced, so I shout; “Put the phone on speaker.”   
He reluctantly touches the speaker option, uncertain of what’s coming, and a small silence follows.  
“Kira?” I yell towards Scott, who’s holding the phone in front of him.  
“Stiles?”I hear a moment later, a little static, but distinctively her voice. “Are you okay? What happened?”  
“I’m peachy, and I’ll tell you later. I’m just telling you that Scott is gonna meet up with you today, and you should completely ignore everything that he says.”  
Scott rolls his eyes and passes me his phone, arms going up in surrender as Kira laughs nervously.  
“Are you sure? I mean I don’t mind waiting, you being back is way more important.” She asks hesitantly.  
“Are you serious?” I laugh. “Am I the only one who wants you to go on this date?”  
Scott immediately starts blushing, and mumbling that it’s not a date. Kira also goes silent for a moment as I hear Lydia laugh behind me.  
“Told you it was a date.” She smirks, causing Scott to stop talking for a minute.  
“Fine, fine.” He blurts out seconds later, still blushing a shade of crimson. “I’ll meet up with Kira. Just can we meet up with you later?”  
“Sure, if Kira’s up to it.” I smile victoriously.   
“Yeah, I’m completely happy with that, I’m excited to see you again.” I hear her say, and I smile.  
“Great! It’s a date!” I joke. “Now get out of here, you lovebirds.”  
Scott takes his phone back from my hand, and turns it off speakerphone, and finishes talking to her silently. Probably deciding where they’re meeting, or apologising for my bluntness. Either one.  
He hangs up, and grabs his jacket from where I put it on the seat, before hugging Lydia and me quickly, before leaving.  
“Don’t get yourself killed again when I’m gone.” He jokes as he leaves. I actually smile, because it’s the first time he’s joked since I came back.  
“I’m not promising anything!” I yell after him, a big smile plastered on my face as I hear the door slam behind him. I turn back to Lydia, who has a frown on her face. My smile immediately fades. “What? What is it?”  
“I don’t believe you.” She states simply, after a moment of deliberation. I can tell that this is hard for her to say.  
“What don’t you believe?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level. I frown, but I feel my lips twitch involuntarily as my heart pounds.  
“You, this… just everything.” She replies slowly, her eyes crinkling. “I don’t know why you would be lying, or what about. And I definitely don’t know how you could have lied to Scott, but this just doesn’t feel right.”  
“What do you mean?” I fluster, rubbing the back of my neck as the room heats up. I can feel her eyes digging into mine as she looks at me suspiciously. My body shivers involuntarily.  
“I mean the feigning ignorance, the pretending like you’re fine, and the complete apathy towards the situation! What’s going on with you? What actually happened?” She almost shouts, struggling to keep her voice level.  
I feel my heart drop and I’m at a loss for words. How could she have seen through me so easily? “I- uh, I already told you what happened!” I yell uncertainly.  
“Do you really expect me to believe that you collapsed and died in the middle of the forest for a month, and just waltzed back as if nothing happened? What did you do out there?”  
“That’s what happened!” I shout, matching her voice. I hate lying to her, and I can’t go on much longer, but I don’t have a choice. I’m beginning to think I have to tell her.  
“Stiles, look at me.” She sighs, walking over to me and kneeling in front of my chair. I shift away awkwardly. “Look right into my eyes and tell me that that’s all that happened.”  
I stare at her hazel eyes, her beautiful eyes, and I know I can’t do it.  
“It… It was the Nemeton.” I whisper quickly, ripping my gaze away from hers as I continue to shake.  
“What?” She gasps in front of me. I see her straighten her back in shock in my peripheral vision.  
“I just couldn’t stop walking, I couldn’t-” I stutter, as Lydia remains silent. I take a deep breath. “Then it was just there. All rotting and ominous. That should have been the first thing I noticed, because why is the tree starting to die now? What happened to it?” I ask rhetorically. I look back up at Lydia, who’s now sitting on the floor and staring at me, willing me to go on with a look of fear and confusion etched on her face. “I reached out, for some reason, and my finger just barely touched it, next thing I know I’m waking up on the forest floor a month later.” I swallow. “And that the Nemeton grew back.” I finish.  
“What?” She gasps again. “What do you mean it grew back?”  
“Like it’s not a stump anymore. It’s this big tree.” I explain, slightly glad to be able to talk about it with someone, like a weight has lifted off.  
“Stiles… What did you do?” She breathes in fear. She grips my hand, which I didn’t realise I was clenching tightly, and I look in her eyes again.  
“I don’t know!” I answer honestly. “I really don’t know what happened, but I know that it’s not good, and that it was probably my fault.”  
“It’s not your fault.” She backtracks briskly, although I hear the uncertainty in her voice. There’s no way she could possibly know. “My guess is that someone’s using the Nemeton, to get power back to it. It needed someone who had a connection to it, and considering that Scott’s a werewolf and Allison’s-” She stops suddenly, as if unable to find the words. The mention of Allison to me was like a punch to the gut, I can’t even imagine what she’s feeling. I see her eyes fill with tears, and I open my mouth to say something, but she carries on like nothing happens. “- Well that leaves only you. Did you notice anything strange at all?”   
“Apart from the tree growing in front of me?” I joke, but she just looks sadly at me. “Well, there was this one thing… I wasn’t alone.” I tense up. “Now don’t freak out-” I start, just as she opens her mouth, fear in her eyes. “-Because I’m fine, just a few cuts and bruises.” And severe bleeding, I add silently. “I never got a look at the thing there, but it was definitely supernatural. I only just managed to escape by kicking it in the face.” I grimace, reliving the memories briefly.  
“Stiles…” She starts slowly, sniffling after a brief pause. “I’m going to need to talk to you about the rest, like really soon, because that’s pretty messed up, but… Could the thing that chased you have been a werewolf? Maybe a true alpha werewolf?” She worries. I stare at her for a moment before it finally clicks. Scott.  
“No… No way! It couldn’t have been Scott…” I start, unable to even think about Scott attacking me. But the facts come back to me. He was in the forest the night I got attacked, the blood on him, the broken nose… “Oh my god, it could have been Scott.” I gasp.  
“I’m sorry for bringing it up at all, it’s probably nothing.” She backtracks, after seeing the panic on my face. It never occurred to me that he could be the one behind this, but thinking back, it makes sense, it’s too much not to be a coincidence.  
“No, no. You’re right, we have to cover all bases, starting with those it could be. And-” I gulp. “Scott is the biggest suspect. He could’ve been drawn in by the Nemeton, like you said, and just attacked me. I wouldn’t put it past the Nemeton to try and get more sacrifices for itself.”  
“Do you really think the Nemeton is making decisions for itself? I mean, yes it’s an ancient druid tree, but it is still a tree. And even if it is Scott, and that’s a big if, then he definitely didn’t do it knowingly, and plus, it’s not like there was any harm done.” She smiles, as she strokes my arm comfortingly.  
“I don’t know.” I sigh, standing up slowly, careful not to damage my chest. I start pacing around the room, ignoring the dull ache in my leg. “I just can’t think of anyone who would need the Nemeton. Could it be some sort of automatic reaction, considering we both have a connection? Like it sensed that it was dying, and it tried to get some life force near it, so it could-” I speculate, motioning wildly with my hands.”I just don’t know, it could be anything in this god damn town. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Loch Ness Monster climbed out of the lake to team up with Bigfoot.” I groan, sitting back down, resting my head in my hands as a headache begins to form.  
“Well if that happens, we’d still find a way to beat them.” She says with a reassuring smile on her face.  
“Oh, wow.” I laugh. “Look at who finally developed a sense of humour when I was gone!”  
“I wasn’t joking.” She frowns.  
“I know that’s not true, because if Bigfoot and the Nessie teamed up, we’d need a truck load of alpha werewolves just to get within touching distance-” I start, ready to explain a blow by blow account of the battle.  
“Oh, wow,” She cuts across sarcastically. “Look at who’s still a nerd after being gone.”  
“I’m sorry, but of all the people who died and come back to life, do you know of anyone who changed in any way?” I ask, remembering both Peter and Jackson being jerks before and after their brief deaths. She just frowns at me. “What? Too soon?”  
“How can you be so blasé about this? About dying, about almost being killed again, about the Nemeton? Do you even care about what happened?” She asks sadly, tears filling her eyes quickly. I immediately clasp her warm hand.  
“Hey, I’m sorry, I really don’t know what’s happening to me. Of course I care about what happened, I’m just too overwhelmed with being alive to worry about that now. I’m just worried that being dead for a month is gonna have some serious implications on me.”   
“We were so scared,” She whimpers, her other hand enveloping mine. “We had no idea where you were. You just disappeared. We couldn’t-”   
“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here now, and it’s gonna take a lot more than an ancient tree and crazed werewolf to stop me next time.” I smile gently, and she blushes. She slides her hands away from mine and rubs her eyes. “Hey so, can I get a ride to Derek’s?” I change the subject quickly.  
“Yeah, sure thing.” She sniffs, standing up suddenly next to me. “Let me just get me keys, they’re upstairs.”

I wait until her footsteps fade up the stairs, before grasping the armrest of my chair, and heaving myself up. I wander over to the window and lift up my shirt quickly to see if it’s worsened. I almost gag at the sight of the blood-soaked bandages wrapped tightly around my chest. All the moving must have upset the poorly done bandaging, causing it to start bleeding again. Man, I really need to get home quickly. I sway slightly and I whip up a hand and press it against the pearly white walls to keep my balance. I drop my shirt back down, and I lean over to lift up my trouser leg, before a flash of red catches my eye. I glance at the wall slowly, and the sight of a bloody handprint makes me gasp. My bloody handprint.  
I look at my hands quickly, and see they’re both red with my blood, and I hear Lydia coming back down the stairs.  
“Okay, I found them! Let’s go.” She calls, and I groan quietly. Her footsteps echo behind me.  
I look around wildly for something to clean it up with, without staining the wall.   
“Stiles?” She calls. I gulp as I realise I can’t hear the footsteps anymore. “What’re you looking at?”  
I spin around, making sure my back covers the wall. “Nothing. Let’s go.” I cough, as she shrugs and leaves the room.   
I turn back around, starting to panic, but I’m faced with a white wall. No blood, no handprint. I look down at my hands, but they’re also completely dry.  
“… The hell?” I wonder slowly. Did I just imagine that? I was so sure it was there, I could feel the sticky blood all over my hands, could see it dripping down the wall…  
“Are you coming?” She yells, cutting across my thoughts.

As the car bounces down the street, I can’t help think back to the vanishing handprint on the wall. I was so sure it was there. And it’s such a random thing to hallucinate. I mean, a green unicorn could have burst through the window, but the most imaginative thing my brain does is conjure up a handprint.   
“What are you thinking about?” Lydia questions me, and it only now occurs to me how quiet I’ve been.  
“Uhh, just my jeep. Like where it could be and that.” I lie, saying the first thing that pops into my head. “I know it seems stupid considering this is totally not the big picture but I just miss it.” I sigh, because this has really been bugging me.  
“We just thought that whoever took you took the jeep too. It made sense at the time.” She shrugs and I feel a pang of guilt after putting them through that.  
“I walked to the Nemeton, though. I haven’t used it for like a week. Well, a month and a week I guess. I thought it would be at home.” I explain. “Do you think someone stole it?”  
“No, I think it drove off on its own.” She responds sarcastically.  
“Well that answers my next question.” I joke. I roll over in my seat quickly, to see out the window, watching the pedestrians on their way to work to carry on their uneventful lives.  
“What’s weird is that the day we found out you were missing, your car was gone too. I mean, that can’t be a coincidence, can it? Beacon Hills isn’t really known for its car thieves.”  
“Oh man.” I sigh after a while. “I loved that car.”  
“It was an awful car.” Lydia laughs.  
“What?” I yell, turning back around to face her. “It was an amazing car! How can you say that?”  
“It was a rusty, temperamental car. I don’t know why anyone would steal it.” She continues.   
“I can’t believe what you’re saying.” I mutter, as she laughs next to me.  
We slow down on the road as we encounter traffic, and the car is silent for the time being. I watch as the pedestrians cross the street. I swear I see some familiar people, but the names don’t come to me. Their faces look slightly blurred, like I can’t focus on them. The traffic dissipates quickly, and the people disappear behind us. I realise I’m shivering again as a chill descends on me.  
“Hey, we’re almost there. It’s just around the corner.” She tells me as she turns to the left.  
“He’s still staying in the loft then?” I observe as we pull up to the big grey building that I’ve grown familiar to recently. It’s not like I dislike this place, there are just too many bad memories there. “Maybe this was a bad idea...” I swallow as the car pulls to a stop. I cough quietly and gingerly place a hand on my ribs.   
“Yeah, he’s a creature of habit.” She smiles. “Wait, hey, this was your idea!” She turns to face me.  
“I’m really not in the mood for physical pain to be honest.” I groan, leaning forward and hitting my head on the dashboard.   
“He’s really changed, you know. Less violent. Plus he’s been really worries about you.”  
“There it is again, saying he was ‘worried’. I have never seen him express any worry. Or happiness. Or anything except anger and sadness.” I admit. It really does seem out of character for him, he never really seemed like the caring type to me. I’ve got other places to be, too. It just doesn’t seem like a good idea.  
“You don’t give him enough credit. He always cared, he just… had trouble expressing it. But recently it’s… I don’t know, easier for him.” She sighs as she places her hand on my shoulder reassuringly. I sit up again slowly and glance at the looming building and shiver.   
“I guess you’re right.” I sigh. I don’t actually know what to expect up there, maybe he really has changed. I’ve got to give him proof that I’m alive, anyway. Better sooner than later. “You might as well go home, I have no idea how long I’ll take.” I tell her as I undo my seat belt. Part of me wants her to leave, so that I can slink away unnoticed to go see Deaton, or the Nemeton. No such luck though. I guess I can’t ask someone to leave when I’ve been missing for so long, it’s understandable to want to be around.   
“Don’t worry, I’ll wait. I can give you a lift back to your place after.” She smiles brightly, and I return the smile, although inside my mind is already whirring to find a solution. After a fruitless attempt at that, I open the car door and I move to step out before Lydia hugs me quickly.  
“I’ll be right out here, okay?” She tell me as she rubs my forearm, I nod and step outside.  
Well, I try to. I make the mistake of completely forgetting about my very injured leg, and I put all my weight on it as I step out of the car. The pain hits me instantly, like someone sent an electric shock through my leg. I collapse and smack my temple on the floor, right on the side of the road. I lie there for a moment, immense pain in my leg and head making me feel like I’m vibrating.  
“Stiles! Are you okay?” I hear Lydia shout, but it sounds blurry to me, like someone wrapped my face in wool. I open my mouth to answer as I lay unmoving, but then I start laughing. I have no idea why I’m laughing, but I also know I am unable to stop.  
I stand up slowly, now careful not to stand on my now throbbing let at all, and look into the car, to see Lydia looking worried. I wipe a tear from my face as my laughing dies down.   
“Lydia, don’t worry about it. I’m fine.” I laugh, and I see her crack a smile.  
“You just took one step out of the car and fell.” She smiles, but her eyes are full of worry.  
“I didn’t actually manage the full step, it was more like I took half a step and fell.” I joke, and I see her break and start to laugh, too.  
“Only you could do that, Stiles.” She giggles.  
“Okay, take two.” I smile, trying to keep a straight face. “I’m actually going now.”  
I put a lot of emphasis in putting one foot in front of the other without falling, and I look back at the car, and see Lydia holding up a sarcastic thumbs up. I suppress a laugh, and continue to walk across the quiet road, trying not to limp or show any pain.

After an agonisingly long walk from the car door to the door of the loft, I can feel my face starting to sweat as I push through the door. I immediately lean back against the wall, and slide down until I’m sitting on the floor with my head in my hands. I still my heavy breathing as I stretch out my left leg and slowly lift up my trouser leg.  
Luckily, the bandage is still there, but it’s also basically completely red with my blood. I reach out and touch the injured area and hiss in pain as soon as I touch it. I have no idea how I’m gonna walk again. I close my eyes and grasp my leg with my right hand so that I can manoeuvre the bandage to make it more comfortable and less blood stained. It only takes a couple of seconds, but my ankle still stings afterward, if by ‘stings’ I mean ‘blindingly painful’ but hey same thing.   
I feel my temple, too, and I can feel it swell painfully. Man I hope I’m not concussed. That wouldn’t be great.   
I then glance to my left and see a staircase that leads to another staircase, and another.  
“Oh fuck.” I groan at the prospect of climbing all those stairs, but I know I’m gonna have to. I push my trouser leg down and wipe my hands on my trousers, before standing up starting on the first step. Using the banister as a crutch, I put my weight on my right leg and do this hop up the stairs. It’s twice as exhausting as walking up normally, but it gives my leg a rest. Why the hell does Derek live so damn high, I think to myself.

I reach the top almost twenty minutes later, and it was pretty uneventfully long journey, except for me vomiting half way up, leaving me feeling empty. When I reach the big metal door, I stand up straight and attempt to look normal, before rapping my knuckles on the hard metal, causing a clang to echo down the staircase. I rub my hand because that actually hurt more than I expected.   
It’s a good minute before the door finally slides open, and I actually consider leaving and saying he wasn’t there. But there it goes, sliding effortlessly, revealing Derek standing there. I open my mouth to say something, but I notice he’s not actually paying any attention me. He’s just standing there texting or something. Wait no, he’s paying a game. I smile, but say nothing, waiting for him to look up and see me.   
While I wait, I glance behind him to the surprisingly nice decorated room. Last time I was here, there was nothing but a singular table, a wooden chair or two. Now there are sofas and normal household items. I think I actually see a television in the corner, too. Derek Hale; ex-alpha werewolf, fearsome beast, and now a normal person. It’s a shocking development.  
I sigh loudly as my eyes settle on him again, his attention still fully on the phone. He’s wearing a tan shirt and dark trousers, and his face is still a scowl, so I guess some things never change. He must have heard me sigh, because he looks up like I just fired a gun in his face. His eyes widen as he takes me in, probably confused by my lack of entourage behind me and my sudden appearance. I open my mouth again to say something but I’m distracted by a loud clang, the sound of his phone hitting the floor. Then, he leaps at me.

I don’t have any time to react before I’m pinned up against the wall behind me. And I smile grimly as I realise that I predicted this would happen, but then I feel the pain in my chest, where he’s pressing down with his hand. My legs are dangling off the floor and I doubt I’d be able to talk with his other hand clutching my windpipe. I fell utterly helpless. I also notice his claws are out, too, which scares me a little. This is the first time he’s tried using his claws on me. He’s not joking.  
I try pushing him away with my hands but he just tightens his grip, stopping my air flow all together. I can see his face, inches away from mine, his face in a scowl. He must sense my fear, and he loosens a little. I splutter and take a deep breath as he just stares.  
“You’re not the Nogitsune, are you?” He says, his tone not questioning, he’s stating a fact.  
“No shit, Sherlock.” I almost yell, still struggling for breath. He doesn’t release the pressure though, and I can feel my chest starting to bleed again as the pain continues. “Are you gonna stop?” I angrily ask him.  
“Where have you been this last month?” He questions me, his eyes squinting, as if he’s trying to interrogate me. He completely ignored the fact that I spoke at all.  
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” I grunt, trying to touch the floor, to no avail. It’s not that comfortable being pushed up against a wall, bleeding and not being able to breathe.  
“Did you run away?” He asks me, equally angry for some reason.  
“I didn’t! It was-” I start, confused that he would even ask that, before he presses on my windpipe again, so that I can’t talk. We’re both quiet for a minute, and I’m wondering why he’s being quiet, but then I hear a voice shouting from inside the loft.  
“Derek? Who is it?” The voice says. A girl’s voice. A familiar girl’s voice. I glance at Derek, who’s looking at the doorway.  
“It’s no one!” He shouts back, and I actually roll my eyes at the lack of imagination. Saying it’s ‘no one’ is basically ‘I don’t want you to see what happening’. Derek saw my little eye roll, and presses harder against my throat. A whimper escaped my lips.  
“It doesn’t sound like nothing.” She says doubtfully, and I hear footsteps coming down the stairs, like she’s coming to see what’s happening. Derek sighs as he hears this.  
I squirm, trying to get a look at the door, but he’s trying to push me away, trying to hide me. The footsteps are close now, and I see her appear in front of the door, just as I manage to pull my face above Derek’s shoulder.  
“Stiles?” Cora asks, surprised, and my eyes widen as I see her too. I didn’t know Cora was back. Well, not that I would. Then Cora see’s her brother’s hand around my neck and she starts forward to break us up. She opens her mouth to say something too.  
At least, she would have if Derek hadn’t let go of my chest for a moment to slam the door shut, hard. His hand doesn’t return to my chest though, as Cora tries to open the door. When she fails, I realise that Derek shut it so hard that it got jammed. I swallow heavily as my gaze returns to him, and he’s looking down at his hand that he used to slam the door. I struggle to look down, and groan internally when I see that it’s red with my blood. He keeps staring at it though. Cora calls both our names through the metal, hitting it repeatedly.  
“It’s blood, you jackass.” I choke out, and it brings his attention back to me. He lets go straight away, as if his hand was burned and I fall to the floor, on my hands and knees, rubbing my throat as I cough and heave and hyperventilate. Maybe he lets go because he feels guilty for pinning my up against the wall. God, I hope so.  
“What is wrong with you?” I groan, seeing he’s still staring at the blood. I try to stand up, but end up leaning against the wall, still breathing heavily.  
“Are you sure this is blood?” He asks gravely. He actually looks a little scared too, which worries me. But I’m too angry to care what he thinks.  
“Uhh..” I lift up my shirt slowly to show the blood stained bandages. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s blood.”  
He lifts his hand to his nose and sniffs it.  
“Ew, dude, what are you doing?” I sigh in disgust. It’s like he’s never seen blood before.  
“This blood… it doesn’t smell like anything.” He whispers, leaning on the wall opposite me, his face unusually pale.  
“What do you mean?” I ask, my stomach dropping. I completely forget about being angry for a minute, and I try and think what he could mean.  
“Stiles… you don’t have a scent.” He panics, looking straight into my eyes for the first time. “What did you do?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm super late with this and wow i really have no excuse except for my exams and work and various things.  
> this chapter was quite draining to write, both physically and emotionally, so i hope you guys enjoy.  
> i'll try and get the next chapter out sooner, and as always, feel free to leave any feedback, positive or negative :)

“Wh-what does that even mean?” I stutter, swallowing my urge to punch him, but I’m met with silence. All I can hear is Cora’s faint knocking through the metal, but neither of us are paying any attention to her any more. Derek’s still staring at his hand, his brow knotted in confusion, like he’s trying to piece together what happened. I watch as his hand trembles ever so slightly, red blood dripping to the gray floor underneath him. His silence is irritating me.

“Derek. What does that mean?” I ask, my voice slightly more aggressive than before. I try to stand upright, try and give the impression that I’m strong, but I end up swaying and falling back down on the floor, as darkness swarms around me. It’s really hard keeping an angry expression when I can’t stand up without feeling like I’m dying.

“Whoa, whoa, Stiles. Calm down.” I hear him say, breaking his silence. I watch him kneel in front of me, finally snapped out of his trance. I open my mouth to tell him that I’m fine but I feel a trickle of something wet slide down my chin. Is that blood? God, I hope not. I open my eyes widely, trying to dispel the darkness, and I see Derek’s paled face hovering in front of mine, as he worriedly stares at me.

“Are you okay?” I hear him ask me, and I almost laugh.

“Boy, that took you long enough to ask. I guess being slammed against a wall doesn’t make people feel better. Who would’ve thought it?” I groan, reshuffling so I can stand up, pushing his shoulders away lightly to give myself more room. I move until I feel his hands on my shoulders, keeping me down almost effortlessly. My ass slides down the floor until I’m essentially lying down when I start to cough loudly, and start to feel faint all over again. Each cough feels like a new tear across my lungs, slowly ripping myself apart. But soon after, it all recedes back, like my pain is being sucked away. I peel my eyes open and see both of Derek’s arms with black tendrils creeping up, like veins. As soon as I feel up to it, I sit up, my back against the cool concrete walls, and face him.

“I genuinely forgot you could do that. It’s a pleasant surprise.” I moan in relief, as I lean back against the wall and place a hand on my head, only to recoil in pain a moment later. I glance at my hands and see blood on them, probably from my tumble on the floor earlier. I’m surprised I have any blood left, to be honest. I’ve lost so much from my wounds and more it won’t be long until i need a blood transfusion or something.

“I haven’t had a reason to use it in a while. I was hoping that would continue.” He sighs, as he slowly removes his hands from my shoulders after seeing I was better, or not dead. He’s sitting opposite me, leaning against the wall before the agony floods back, making my body ache all over again. I shudder subtly as I start to feel a chill from down the stairs, making the hairs on my neck stand up.

“Well, I’m sorry for bursting your bubble and ruining this for you.” I respond, lacing as much sarcasm as I can into it. Derek just looks down and immediately starts shaking his head.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He tells me. I look down, at my hands and see that they’re not only covered in blood, but they’re also deathly pale. I’m finding it harder and harder to find a good reason to hide this from everyone. Even if I wanted to, how could I explain this? What am I going to tell Lydia? I change the subject quickly before I let my brain think of any more disastrous scenarios.

“Hey, uhh, what was that about? Back there, I mean?” I ask him quietly, in case Cora’s listening as I motion to the broken door. Derek glances at my face momentarily, then turns his attention back to the floor, wiping my blood of his hands.

“I just thought, maybe, the Nogitsune wasn’t completely gone.” He shrugs simply, still looking down. That simple answer sparks something in my brain, with a hint of annoyance and anger.

“No, you didn’t.” I respond, anger growing again, repressing the pain from my elevated heartbeat. He realised straight away who I was, yet he kept me hanging there, unable to breathe. He glances up at me quickly, and he must’ve sensed my sudden anger.

“What?” He feigns ignorance, looking innocent. If I wasn’t so sure that he was genuinely freaked out about almost killing me, I’d say he was trying to agitate me.

“You knew. You knew straight after seeing me that I wasn’t the Nogitsune. You even said it yourself, literally seconds before you pressed harder, almost killing me.”

“I didn’t almost kill you!” He counters with his pointless argument. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”

“Was that before or after crushing my windpipe?” I grumble, rubbing my already sore throat.

“If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.” He growls simply, his eyes fluttering down to my neck and then blood-soaked chest, giving a slightly unconvinced glint in his eyes.

“Is that supposed to help the situation? Am I supposed to thank you?” I ask in incredulity. I wait for some kind of answer, or any sign of him hearing me, but he just sits in silence, brooding, and watching his crossed legs intently.

 

“When did you get back?” He asks, a full minute later.

“Like nine hours ago? That’s when I woke up.” I tell him, my teeth clenched in annoyance. He’s trying to make general conversation, as if I wasn’t bleeding out on the floor. I am literally sitting in a pool of my own blood, and he’s making no move to help me. He _does_ look torn between wanting to help me up and wanting to stay far away and retreat to his loft, both of which I wouldn’t mind him doing, but he seems to do neither instead.

“Woke up? What do you mean?” He asks, his ears perked up in interest, as his eyes meet mine for the first time in a while, flashing blue for a second.

“Oh, so you actually want to listen to me now? Had enough of threatening me?” I question him sarcastically, stifling another coughing fit while pretending to sit more upright.

“Stiles-” He starts, but I cut him off, suddenly having enough of his voice.

“What I don’t understand is that Scott and Lydia put so much emphasis on how much you changed, yet I’m lying here in my own blood at your hand. Well, indirectly at your hand.” I tell him, struggling to my feet while motioning to the dark red puddle expanding around my feet. I look at my shirt and see that it’s essentially ruined, changed from a dark blue to a darker red with it soaked in blood, along with most of my light trousers too. My hands are covered with blood too, and have turned a near-translucent white colour due to most of the contents of my body now swirling around in the forest and here. I can feel blood trickling on my face too, and I imagine there’s a red mark on my neck. I must look like I’ve been in some kind of war. 

“Stiles,” Derek growls, his eyes flashing blue again. “Sit down.” He almost pleads.

“Or what?” I snort. “You’ll strangle me?” I motion to my throat.

“That was a mistake-”

“You think?” I yell at him. He just glares at me.

“Sit.” He tells me. No growling, no commanding, just telling me. I begrudgingly do as he says, sitting back down opposite him, to the right of where I was sitting last, so that I am actually directly opposite Derek. I must have winced visibly, because I can see him stare at me curiously.

“Where exactly are you hurt? And by what?” He asks me, almost sounding concerned.

“Well, you saw my chest, that’s the worst, but also my leg;” I pull up my trouser leg to show the soaked bandage. “And by what, I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t really have a good chance to look at it as it was taking chunks of my skin off.” I shrug, grinding my teeth as the movement disturbs my wounds.

“And where was this?” He moves to sit next to me instead of opposite, and he grabs my arm strangely delicately. The black tendrils reappear.

“Somewhere in the preserve.” I swallow, exhaling in relief as the pain ebbs away.

“Wha- What were you doing in the preserve?” He stutters, confusion evident on his face.

“That’s where I’ve been all month.” I grimace, waiting for his reaction. I just hope he believes me because I couldn’t really handle being called a liar, not now.

But he doesn’t reply, he just sits there, as if waiting for me to say more.

 

“Hey, wait. I’m still pissed at you. This wasn’t the ‘welcome back’ reaction I was expecting. I mean, sure, hugs and kisses weren’t expected at all, but attempted murder wasn’t high on my list either.” I complain, trying to make my voice sound happier than I feel. I look up, trying to find his eyes, but he’s looking at his hand, the black ink-like substance running up his arm. He removes his hand slowly, to place it on his own leg. The pain blossoms back in my chest and leg, making it feel twice as bad as it was before. I almost forget to breathe.

“I didn’t try to kill you.” He responds sullenly, like the fight has just about left him.

“Yeah, well you got pretty damn close. Usually, when humans can’t breathe, they die. Just so you know.” I sarcastically explain, as I bring my legs to my chest and push down, staggering to my feet. I feel myself sway visibly and my head is pounding but I stay upright, because I just really need to stay a reasonable distance away from him.   

“Stiles, sit down.” He sighs.

“You know what? No. No, I’m not gonna sit down. Why are you even pretending that you care?”

“I do care-” He starts, at least having the audacity to look outraged.

“Let’s say for one second you do.” I start, grinding my teeth in anger. “In that case, what was going through your mind five minutes ago? You sure as hell didn’t think it was the Nogitsune back. So what was it? Did you just want to smother me with your care?” I ask, crossing my arms, looking down at him.

Derek doesn’t answer for a while. He doesn’t even look at me.

“That’s what I thought.” I sigh. I start to move down the corridor, eager to move away before a last thought pops into my mind. I turn around, and look at him unmoved on the floor, staring at his hands. “Scott and Lydia… They kept telling me how much you’ve changed. And I wanted to believe them, I really did. Yet here I am, in a worse situation than I’ve ever been before and you have no response for me! I came to you asking for help, this is how you reply?” I ask calmly, finally goading a response from him.

“It’s because of Scott and Lydia that I’m doing this in the first place.” He growls, getting to his feet and walking over towards me. “After you left, I was the only one who they thought they could talk to. Losing Allison, then you so soon afterwards? Do you even understand how hard it was to them?”

“No, I don’t. I was too busy being _dead_ in a fucking forest the whole time! But, no. You’re right. How inconsiderate of me to do that to you all.”

“Stiles..” He starts, and I can see a vein popping up on his temple. “If you actually spent the time trying to explain-”

“Seriously? You’re actually trying to put this blame on me?” I ask in incredulity, taking a step back on my good leg. I can see him open his mouth to start a rebuttal, but I get there before him, my anger heating up my face. “Take a quick look at yourself. Now look at me. Who is covered in blood right now? Who is so injured that they can barely stand, after almost being killed twice in the last 12 hours? Please tell me how any of this is my fault.” I exclaim, gesturing wildly with my hands. I start breathing quickly, and I can feel myself getting light headed, but I stay upright and still against my better judgement.

“I admit, it was a mistake to attack you, but what did you expect?” He shouts, leaving me silent. A second passes, and I swallow before he continues. “Did you think I would welcome you back with open arms? After you’ve been gone for a whole month after being possessed by a demon trying to kill us all? What did you think would run through my mind when I saw you standing here?” He yells at me, taking a step forward.

“Well, not murder! That is just something the ‘old Derek’ would do, and apparently you’ve changed!” I reply, matching his sound. “I came here to tell you that I had not, in fact, died. If you had been more sane, I might have told you what actually happened this month, maybe even ask for help with the thing that tried to kill me. But, you just cut out the middle man and beat it out of me.”

“Do you want to come inside?” He asks me abruptly, his voice level returning to normal. I blink in confusion.

“…What?” I question him, throwing my arms in the air. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“You said how you came to talk. So, let’s go inside to talk.” He grumbles, his eyes flashing blue for a moment, before side-stepping to allow me to pass.

I stare at him for a second, trying to decide if he’s joking or not, because really, he can’t be serious. After all this? “No… No, surprisingly, I’ve had enough of your hospitality today.” I spit out, turning quickly and walking away, trying not to limp, as I feel his eyes drilling into my back. I reach the start of the stair before a final thought rushes in. _Cora_. “Actually, sure. But don’t think for a second this is about you.” I grumble, spinning on my heel and walking back towards him, not breaking stride.

His arms are crossed and his face is close to a smile but not quite there, and I brush his shoulder as I push past him, making a beeline straight for the door.

“Stiles, let me…” I hear him begin as I place my hand on the door handle, feeling the mangled metal’s cold bite on my palm. I ignore him for a split second, still brooding in my anger before it occurs to me what he’s talking about. The door is jammed shut after he slammed it. Cora couldn’t even open it.

Unfortunately, my hand was already in mid swing, and I was angry enough at Derek to ignore his advice. With all my might, I yank the handle to the left and hope that I don’t look too stupid.

 

Then something weird happens.

The metal gives way under my hand with a clang, and it glides effortlessly to the side.

My mouth falls open in shock momentarily, but I change it into a smirk when I turn around to face Derek, before wordlessly stepping into the room dramatically, aware that I’m dripping blood on the floor. Cora is sitting on the floor, five feet away, with the same look of shock as Derek has as I clamber into the room. She gets up really quickly.

“Stiles, oh my god, what happened? Are- Is that _blood_?” She almost screams. She looks concerned, but I can also see vague interest on her face. I know she deserves an answer, but I can feel myself starting to shake slightly, and breathing is growing more and more difficult by the second.

“Ask your brother.” I reply simply, walking away without another word, cutting through the room, aiming for the bathroom. I use all my energy to stay upright.

“Stiles- What? What do you- Derek!” I hear her fluster behind me, but I will myself to keep looking forward. Just a few steps more…

 I put my weight on my left leg and wince, the brave face I had on now officially gone. My leg wobbles violently under my pressure and I almost fall, but I limp quickly to my right leg. The jarring in my leg caused me to take a sharp breath, and I feel my chest pumping out a little more blood. I finally reach the tiled bathroom floor across the room, and I slam it behind me and slide the lock into place.

 

I immediately collapse and slide down onto the floor, my head now pounding like a drum and everything else throbbing violently. I close my eyes tight and will the pain away, to no avail. I can hear Derek’s protesting tone of voice as Cora yells at him and at me, and I can’t help smile. Not everything has changed, at least.

I take a slow, deep breath and open my eyes, seeing dark spots fade away slowly and I lean over to pull up my trouser leg. Surprisingly, the bandaging isn’t too ruined, even though it’s almost black with blood, it’s staying tied around my calf and ankle, with is more than I can say for my chest. There’s still a sharp ache coming from my ankle, but it’s nowhere close to the pain coming from my chest. I don’t even bother checking it, because I can see the blood leaking through my dark shirt, turned even darker by the wetness form under it. I look at the mirror in front of me and almost recoil in horror. Sure, I was never the best looking guy in the world, but something has clearly happened this month. My face is hallowed and gaunt, with a colour gone past pale, verging on white, my hair long and unkempt. The only reason I know it’s me is by the freckles on my cheek. I also somehow have a black eye, and red marks on my throat that looks strangely like hand marks. Not to mention a cut on my temple, leaking blood slowly, and also dribbling out of my mouth.

In short, I look like a mess.

I think I hear a light knock at the door behind me, but I just grunt in response, unable to even form words. My energy has just been depleted when I sat down seconds ago, I try to stand up but end up just sliding down on my side, resting on the cool tiles, ignoring my shivering body. I can feel my eyes flickering close. Maybe a little sleep wouldn’t be so bad... Maybe…

The door crashes open behind me and my eyes open wide, but only for a second before they start to close again. It takes me a while before I realise I’ve been picked up, and I can’t even register who it is.

“Hey, what is this?” I slur, my mouth barely forming the words. I try to lift up my arms, or open my eyes, but my body is working against me.

“He’s not drunk, is he?” Comes a tentative voice from my side. _Cora_ , my mind tells me. _That’s Cora’s voice_.

“No, he’s dying.” Comes Derek’s gruff reply from above me.

My eyes open at that word, _dying_. I see Derek’s almost worried face as he walks through his loft. Cora must be behind him because I can’t see her.

“Pfft. I’m not dying. Dying is hard." I complain, rolling from Derek’s arms over onto the sofa, my speech slightly slurred. "Did you drug me?" I snort with laughter and disbelief as Derek and Cora's faces swirl in front of me. 

"Did you?" I hear Cora ask.

 "What? No, of course I didn't. He's probably just woozy from the blood loss. I'd say he's lost about 1 and a half to 2 litres." Derek replies carefully, as he lifts my trouser leg to see the damage there, removing the bandage slowly as to try and stop the pain from spreading too much.

 "That's a lot of blood." Cora pales. "That explains why he looks like shit. Is he gonna die?" She touches my forehead, her hand warm to the touch. "He's freezing cold. What happened to him?"

 

Derek grits his teeth, but says nothing. He lifts my shirt quickly to inspect my chest, and I take a deep breath, ignoring the stabbing pain, as he tries to remove that bandage too. The gauze is unrecognisable from the one I put on mere hours ago, now red and dripping. 

 "Hey, I'm still in the room here." I slur with a misplaced smile on my face, but neither of them are paying me any attention now. I can feel my face sweating now as my vision continues to blur. 

 "Derek." His sister says again, less calm this time as she touches his arm. "Is he gonna die?"

 "I don't know. Probably not. Whoever stitched him up did a crappy job, but it worked none the less. That probably saved his life," He starts, and I let out a sigh of relief. "But, these... I don't even know, claw marks? They don't look good. I'm amazed he made it this far without..." He trails off, leaving the last word unsaid even though all three of us know the next word was "dying". 

 "Wow, high praise." I mutter to myself, even though I know he's right. Seeing his brow knitted and his eyes concentrated so thoroughly shows me for at least the current time he does not want me dead. It's weird seeing him like this, so worried, so vulnerable. Well, I mean I probably look more vulnerable and in pain right now so I really can't talk, I’m just starting to understand what Scott was talking about. 

 

 I suddenly feel a new, sharp pain in my chest, and I'm back in the forest, reliving the attack. I can see the claws shine in the moonlight, before they swing down and rip my chest all over again. I try to look away but my eyes are drawn to this invisible beast, and then its arm descends. 

 I shout out and raise my head from the sofa, trying to breathe through the pain, even when I look down to see Derek's hand in my chest. Well, in the wound, probably, but my mind is being wiped out from the pain, like someone set off a flash bomb in my skull, and I really can't think clearly at all. 

 All of a sudden, the drowsiness and blurred vision dissipates, and my headache fades. My breathing becomes slightly easier and I don't feel in constant pain every second. Whatever he’s doing it seems to be working, for the time being. 

"Derek-" Cora yells, full of alarm. I turn to look at her, my eyes widening at the sudden loud noise. She's staring right at me with panic in her eyes. 

"Cora? What is it?" I ask her, but she turn to Derek, who's still inspecting the claw marks depicted on my chest thoroughly. 

"Derek!" She shouts again, shaking his arm. "We're losing him!" 

 

I blink, and stare at Cora, a ghost of a smile on my lips. "What are you talking about? You're not losing me. I haven't felt this good in hours." I inform her, but she doesn't seem to hear me. A quiet noise, kind of like static, starts emanating from behind me, in the corner of the room. Someone must have turned the TV on. 

Derek whips his gaze up from my ribcage to look at my face. I also turn to him, ready to question Cora's action. What I see, however, are circles under his eyes, and what looks like a hint of fear nestled in them. That's when I start getting confused, and more importantly, that’s when I start worrying.  

"Stiles." He yells, grabbing my shoulder and shaking it lightly. 

"What is it? Derek, what's wrong?" I whisper. The static gets slightly louder behind me, and I feel a cold chill down my spine. "Derek!" I shout louder, trying to move my arm to his shoulder, but my movements are sluggish, my arms near unresponsive. 

"Stiles!" The shaking becomes more vigorous as his face pales alarmingly quickly. Cora puts her ear over where my heart would be on my chest, as the static grows even louder. It interrupts my thoughts and plagues my mind, with the static drowning out the sounds around me. 

"Stiles, open your eyes. Wake up!" Derek panics, a bead of sweat on his forehead. He glances at Cora, and so do I because apparently she cannot find a heartbeat. 

"Don't die Stiles, please don't die!" She gasps, tears filling her eyes, as Derek begins thumping my chest, trying to restart my heartbeat. 

"Guys, I'm fine. I'm awake and alive, and I don't know what's happening." I tell them, my panic rising to levels higher than I knew possible. "What's happening?" I ask myself, as I start to breathe erratically, which I recognise as the start to another panic attack. "Oh my god, my last words were sarcastic, that's fucking typical." I almost laugh as Cora and Derek fret above me. I feel steady thumps of Derek smacking my chest, but other than that all my other senses are dwarfed by the strain me ears are going through, with the static popping my eardrums and reverberating through my bones. It's so loud that even if anyone did speak to me, I wouldn't be able to hear them. 

‘ _Stiles_. _’_ Comes a voice. Different, yet similar, both new and old. The voice sounds familiar, but it could also be the first time I ever heard it. 

"What?" I shout, trying to make my voice heard over the unbearable static encompassing me. I hear a scream coming from somewhere below, and I see Cora and Derek exchange a glance, before their faces start to fade.

 ‘ _Stiles...’_ Comes the voice again, as clear as if it was coming from right by my ears. I turn my head to the side, but see nothing. ‘ _Soon, Stiles. Soon it will be all over_.’ Whispers the voice calmly, as my eyes begin to close for what I fear to be the last time. I will myself to open my eyes one last time, to see Derek and Cora have gone. The loft is gone too. All I can see are treetops and branches, like I'm lying on the forest floor. Then, standing out from the rest, a different tree, dwarfing the others in comparison, with an almost golden hue. The Nemeton, I think to myself. 

 

 

I start walking over towards it, now only 5 feet away, when I hear the voice again; ‘ _15 days left, Stiles_ ’ It whispers loudly inside my head. Or it could be coming from the Nemeton, or anywhere else, like someone hiding behind one of these trees. ‘ _15 days and everyone you love will be gone._ ’ It says happily in my ear, and I realise it's not coming from the tree; it _is_ the tree, calling out to me.

“Oh my god.” I sigh, but keep walking forward. “I’m talking to a tree.”

 I take another tentative step forward, dry leaves crunching under my feet. I raise my arm automatically, with no control over my movements, as my fingers threaten to brush against the gnarled bark of this ancient tree again, edging closer, closer still. ‘ _15 days, Stiles... 15 days until-’_

 

I'm back in Derek's loft suddenly, sitting upright and trying, and failing to catch my breath. Panting loudly, I look around trying to assess the situation. There's a dull pain on my cheek bone, and Derek's hand is in a fist, inches away from my head, his face looking more emotive and worried than I have ever seen. Cora is on my other side, tear streaking down her cheeks as she stares in wonder at my recovery, with a hint of even fear in her eyes. Lydia is standing by the door, with her hand on the handle and looking petrified as her eyes rest on me, taking everything in. Cora and Derek both have blood all over them, which I can only assume is my blood, considering I can see that my chest has begun bleeding again, making me lose even more blood than before. 

 "What..." I pant, unable to catch my breath still, as I stare at all their faces, one at a time before my eyes land on Lydia. "The hell... was that?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was meant to be a part of a larger chapter, but i thought it would've been easier getting this out when i finished it so that i could spread it out better.
> 
> i'm hoping to get the next one out soon, and i hope you enjoy this one
> 
> as always, kudos/comments would be hugely appreciated, and thank you for reading:)

There’s nothing but silence for a while, except for my heavy breathing, as everyone just stares at me with their eyes wide open. I can feel my wounds pulsating as I take deep breaths, leaving me feel hot and sticky with blood. I open my mouth to try and say something to lighten the mood, but nothing comes out at all. The looks I’m getting from Lydia are putting a halt to my words.

Derek and Cora, although they both look terrified and terrifying at the same time, are alright to deal with because they both already knew about my disastrous appearance and blood loss, even if my death was a, uhh, slight shock for them. Lydia, on the other hand, is going to find it harder to understand.

“Stiles…?” Lydia starts, breaking the silence, for which I’m partly thankful. I look at her face, and see her fearful and worried complexion, and watch as she looks about to bolt at any given moment. I open my mouth again, hoping my face looks apologetic as I struggle with my words again, genuinely unsure about what I was about to say before Derek cuts across me.

“I’m, uhh, sorry for punching you.” He sighs sheepishly, his hand unclenched once more. A part of me is surprised at his sudden empathy, but my brain doesn’t register it fully. “It was the only thing I could think to do.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m pretty sure it’s what brought me back, actually.” I reply, not really focusing on my words as I try to keep my gaze on him, although I can still see Lydia walk forward in my peripheral vision.

“Brought you back? From…” Cora starts next to me, confusion obvious in her voice as she starts to relax for the first time I’ve been here.

“From what?” I finish for her. “I don’t know, I really don’t. I…” I trail off, because I really don’t know where to start, especially with Lydia here. When did she get here, and how much does she know?

“’A few cuts and bruises’?” Lydia reiterates from before, and I see she’s standing next to Derek, which is already too close, especially with the bandages removed from my leg and chest with the both of them on full view. She eyes them suspiciously.

“Well they are cuts, I just didn’t explain the severity of them.” I respond quietly, wincing at her hurtful tone. I lick my dry lips nervously, and try to turn to sit upright without causing much pain.

“You said you were fine!” She yells at me, and I feel myself shrink under her scrutinising glare.

“I _am_ fine!” I lie, matching her volume, but she raises her eyebrows when the shout causes me to flinch in pain.

“He’s not fine.” Derek and Cora tell Lydia in unison, ignoring my irritated glare.

“I know that, I passed a huge puddle of blood on my way here.” She sighs irritably, directed towards me. “Plus,” She adds, motioning to me lying on the sofa, covered in bloody bandages. “I’m not _blind_.”

“Alright then, fine. I’m not okay. But, I’m still alive.” I tell her, trying to swivel around so that I can stand up. I falter awkwardly when the pain gets too much, and I just collapse back down.

“Stiles.” Derek reminds me. “What _just_ happened?”

“Number 1; shut up, and number 2; that was completely unrelated.” I hiss to him, trying again to move to a sitting position, delicately placing my feet on the floor, but make no move to stand up.

“No, Stiles, I meant it literally. _What_ just happened?” He asks again, crossing his arms as he and Lydia move to stand in front of me with Cora.

“I don’t know,” I start, putting my head in my hands. “I was awake the whole time, but-”

“Your heart stopped and your eyes were closed, Stiles. You weren’t awake, or asleep for that matter.” Cora argues, ignoring Lydia’s worried look.

“But,” I continue, gritting my teeth. “Apparently my heart stopped even though I could see and hear everything that was happening. Well, until I heard something like a scream.” I add, as I remember the sound I heard just before the Nemeton. I look up to see both Derek and Cora shifting glances between me and Lydia before the realisation hits me. “Oh crap, that was you?”

“I.. uh, I _did_ scream.” She stammers out, even though she looks like she wanted to say more.

“Huh. I did die then. That’s got to be some new record of deaths per year.” I laugh, but no one else cracks a smile. “How long was I dead for?” I ask the room around me, because last time this happened a whole month passed.

“Only a minute or two.” Cora informs me and I nod thoughtfully. Maybe I didn’t get the longer effect because I wasn’t actually with the Nemeton this time, or it didn’t need me at all, just to tell me a message. It’s also likely that I just succumbed to my wounds and just had a really weird dream before being resurrected. If it’s the former that’s true, why is the Nemeton trying to kill me at all? How is it that I’m being outsmarted by a tree?

“Stiles.” Lydia inputs sharply, smashing a silence I didn’t know was happening. My eyes flicker over to her quickly, and Cora does the same. Derek, on the other hand, is still watching me curiously. “After I screamed, I could feel straight away it was you. I don’t know what it was, but I knew it was you… it was you who was-” She sighs, her voice almost breaking with emotion.

“Maybe that’s a part of your powers expanding? “ I offer, cutting across her so she doesn’t have to finish her sentence. Honestly, I doubt the words as soon they leave my lips. It’s got to be something to do with her being my tether. Especially with me dying, I can’t be sure the effect it has. I wonder if the same happened a month ago, when I first saw the Nemeton?

“That’s not it, there’s more.” She adds seriously, finally goading Derek to turn his attention to her. I swallow nervously before she unveils what happened next, because it can’t be good if she hesitated this long before telling me. “After I screamed, when I was still in my car, I saw you.”

“Saw me?” I repeat, a small smile threatening to breach my lips. Is that all it was? “Saw me where? Like in the car next to you, or on the street or what?” My smile fades pretty quickly when she shakes her head.

“You were in a forest, walking towards this giant tree.” She starts, and I feel my eyes widen as I realise we saw the same thing.

“You saw it too?” I whisper fearfully, aware of Derek’s glances between the two of us, clearly wondering what could have this effect on me. “Did you hear…?” I ask, unsure of what word to end that sentence with. Did anyone even speak, or was it all in my head?

She shakes her head again. “All I heard was you muttering to yourself, but I couldn’t make out any words. I was standing pretty close, but everything was pretty muffled when you got closer to the tree. Stiles, what happened?” Lydia asks me quietly, and the looks I’m getting from the Hales shows me they’re thinking of asking the same.

“That giant tree you saw me walking up to? That was the Nemeton.” I sigh, receiving three different reactions at once. Lydia merely nodded knowingly, while Cora grunted in both surprise and confusion. Derek, maintaining his cool exterior, did nothing. “Derek, you haven’t said anything in a while.” I nervously point out, turning to face him. “What’s on your mind, buddy?”

“I think it’s about time you told us what happened that night.” He replies simply. Cora and Lydia both look at me, waiting for my explanation. “The whole story.” Derek adds, and I sigh before complying.

 

I tell the three of them the whole event that happened, from finding the Nemeton dying, to stumbling into my own home a month later, and everything in between. They’re good listeners on the most part, staying silent as I try to explain what was chasing after me in the woods, and the Nemeton growing back instantaneously. There’s an occasional gasp, which is to be expected, but on most parts it’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop a mile away. It certainly feels odd explaining the whole thing, and even though it happened to me around 12 hours ago, it just feels like I’m telling a story, and that it didn’t actually happen. It’s possible my brain is telling me this so that I don’t need to face the reality that there is something out to kill me, and it’s very likely I won’t make it to the end of the year. I’ve got these to remind me of that, I think to myself, looking down at my chest and leg, both still on full display just in case I need to re-bandage them.

I hurriedly finish my story, not wasting too much time in the severity of the attack, but instead focusing on the attacker itself. With my last remark about arriving at my home a month later left to settle in their minds, I’m met with resolute silence once again. I clear my throat awkwardly to show that I’ve finished talking, as I rub the back of my neck again.

“Why didn’t you tell Scott about this?” Derek asks finally, uncrossing his arms and sitting down in a chair next to the already sitting girls next to him.

“How’d you know I didn’t tell him?” I question him, even though he’s right, it’s still odd why he made that assumption.

“Well, you’re here and he’s not, for starters. How did you manage that? His best friend is missing- is _dead_ ,” He corrects himself. “For a whole month, and he just leaves you? Like that?” He points out, making me think back to the little persuasion it took to convince Scott to leave.

“He didn’t seem that phased about leaving you, Stiles.” Lydia concurs, sounding uncertain.

“That’s because he thought I was fine.” I debate, before realising what they’re insinuating. “Stop trying to convince me it was something to do with Scott! There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation to why he was acting weird earlier!”

“’Acting weird’? Did he do something else?” Cora interrupts me, picking up on what I meant. I shuffle awkwardly in my seat as I silently curse myself for saying that out loud.

“There was just this one thing, like straight after he saw me.” I recall, thinking back to this morning, seeing Scott looking dishevelled. “It was weird; he just randomly showed up with a broken nose, then he drove me to get breakfast. I know it sounds like nothing, but we were having a serious conversation seconds before he asked me to go, and I just found it pretty out of character.”

 “No one is trying to convince you that Scott’s the one that attacked you.” Derek states, glaring at Cora who looks ready to disagree. “We’re just thinking maybe you should keep an open mind about this? Until we know for sure what actually happened, we can’t rule out any possibilities.”

“Is it possible that Scott was just drawn to the Nemeton, the same as Stiles? Like could that be a reason for his problem controlling his powers?” Lydia asks him, as if reading my mind. I think that whatever is happening to the Nemeton, if affected me and Scott. It probably would have Allison too, if she was still alive. It definitely could have the power to do that.

“It’s possible.” Derek agrees uncertainly. “But if that did happen, what you’re saying is at the time Stiles got attacked it’s likely Scott was there too. With his advanced senses, he definitely would’ve heard it, unless he was the one doing the attacking.”

“Did he though? Have his super senses, I mean.” I point out, only trying to find a decent argument to displace Scott as the main suspect. “I mean, he couldn’t hear me lying to him, and he _did_ have problems with his powers. It’s just as likely that he didn’t hear what was going on. Not to mention by the time I was actually attacked, I had run a fair distance away from the tree.” Ignoring any and all doubts in my mind, I downright refuse to believe Scott had any part in this. Sure, he tried to attack me before, but that was when he was first bit, and it was never that bad again. Even when I was killing people as the Nogitsune, he refused to lay a single finger on me. I may not know what happened this month, but I know in my heart it wasn’t Scott trying to kill me.

“I guess you’re right.” Derek sighs, sounding totally unconvinced in my opinion. “But think back, do you remember anything? Anything about it that could help us?”

I sit back and close my eyes, thinking back to what happened earlier, any detail I might have forgotten. I try and picture my surroundings, try to remember what faint smell was lingering in the air, and what sounds were echoing through the forest. I can’t even picture the trees around me, the memory is fading fast. I barely remember any details of what happened, even though I could recall easily minutes ago. I shake my head lightly, but say nothing, still trying to piece together anything that might be of any use. Clouds of mist fog my memory.

“Stiles, one last thing,” Derek adds, and I open my eyes to see his slightly haggard looking complexion.

“Let me guess.” I groan, leaning forward slowly. “You want me to tell Scott about all this.” I was worried he’d ask this of me, and even though I see his reasoning behind it, Scott being a true alpha, and my best friend, but I just couldn’t-

“No, actually the opposite.” He tells me, interrupting my thoughts. I stare at him, my mouth slightly open at the shock that we’re actually agreed on something for once. Lydia’s also staring at Derek with a shocked expression, but I assume for different reasons to be honest. “He’s been through a lot, especially recently. Just let him have this, for now. Until something escalates from this, there’s no need to concern him with it. It’ll just do more harm than good.”

“You can’t just decide what you think Scott should hear, he deserves to know what happened.” Lydia argues, glaring at Derek, as if confused why he’d even suggest such a thing.

“Really? You still think that after all that’s happened?” He counters, leaving Lydia silent for a minute. What is he talking about?

“That wasn’t his fault, we all had the same reaction.” She pales, and Cora rolls her eyes as Derek opens his mouth again.

“Alright!” I shout, stopping Derek from retaliating. “Just- Just let me think. I don’t know if I should tell him yet, and neither of you should make that decision over me.” I groan. Personally, I agree with Derek, but deep down I know Lydia’s right. If the situation was reversed, Scott would tell me. Well, if the situation _was_ reversed then there would be no danger anyway, and he wouldn’t have gotten into this mess to start with, but that’s less important. I trust Scott completely, and I really hate keeping this from him. I might not even be able to keep it from him at all, if his werewolf powers come back.

 

Ignoring the thoughtful looks from the three bodies in the room, I take my phone out of my pocket, only just remembering that I had it. The screen is smudged with bloody fingerprints, and I shudder as I try and wipe them off. The blood merely spreads all across the screen, and I sigh as I turn it on. Finally with signal, it starts vibrating suddenly to signify the missed calls and texts I’d received over the month.

“Jeez, 271 missed calls and 159 texts.” I whistle, slightly surprised at the impact I must’ve had by disappearing. “You guys must have really missed me.” Even though I’m joking, I’m getting looks from Lydia and even Derek that are really making me regret my life choices.

“What is that?” Cora asks suddenly, squinting at my shaking hand, moving her head closer.

“A phone?” I answer uncertainly, as she shakes her head. I look at my phone too, unsure what she’s referring to.  

“Not that, idiot.” She sighs irritably. “What’s on the phone?”

I turn the phone over and look, but I can’t really see anything. She must smell something. “I don’t know, it could be dirt? Or dust… blood… general waste.” I list the things that I have been around the past 12 hours, but she shakes her head after every one.

“It smells like ash.” Derek cuts in, after inhaling sharply. Cora nods as I suddenly remember why.

“Oh, that makes sense, I completely forgot to tell you something that happened!” I yell, suddenly remembering waking up in the Hale house. “At some point, I must’ve collapsed, or something, because next thing I know I woke up in your old house. I have no idea how I got there, but I assume that’s where the ash came from.”

“You… were in my house?” Derek asks, clearly confused. “But how did you get there?”

“I honestly never put much thought into it. I assumed I walked.” I shrug, before I start thinking back. “I don’t remember walking there, though.” I add silently as my mind whirrs.

“Stiles, the walk from the Nemeton to Derek’s house takes around 45 minutes. In your condition, there’s no way you could’ve made it all the way there without realising.” Lydia informs me, concern evident on her face.

“What are you trying to say?”

“She’s saying someone took you there.” Derek finishes simply.

 

Twenty minutes, and several bandages later, Lydia and I stand at the door of Derek’s loft, on our way out. We just finished discussing our next move, which is to not have a next move. Derek’s agreed to do some recon with the Nemeton to see if everything is still fine, while trying not to die in the process. It was unanimously decided that I have no part in this, despite my loud argument. I eventually agreed that I was too close to dying to be of any assistance, as Derek kindly put it, and also if Scott isn’t to know about this, I should stay with him in case he gets suspicious. It’s only for 15 days, I told myself, as I hobbled through the room, saying my goodbyes.

Turning around at the door, I see the Hales both standing nearby to wish us off.

“Remember to tell me what you find. About the Nemeton.” I swallow, aware that I’ve already said that about 5 times in the past couple of minutes, but I’m too weak to even filter my mouth.

“I’ll phone you as soon as I get there, alright?” He nods, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder as he adds quietly; “I really am sorry, Stiles. I should’ve listened, I shouldn’t have-”

“Hey, Derek,” I mumble, making it sound like I just called him Dirk. “It’s fine. Really, it is.” I assure him, trying to enunciate more clearly. “I mean, it was a totally extreme reaction, I’m not doubting that. It’s just, I understood your intentions, I guess? No hard feelings.” I shrug, looking into his eyes to try and sound sincere. He nods again, meaningfully as he removes his hand from my shoulder and takes a step back. I turn to Cora.

“It was really great seeing you again, it’s been a while. I just hope the next time we meet it’s under better circumstances. You know, without one of us on the brink of death.” I smile, as I lean on the wall next to me for support, trying to mask my face. I see Lydia watch me in my peripheral vision.

“With our luck?” Cora laughs. “It’s doubtful.”  

“Hey, I was actually meaning to ask you, why’d you come back?” I ask, just before I was about to turn away. “I’d heard you were in South America, now here you are.”

“I just came back for the funeral, then I just stuck around.” Cora shrugs simply, glancing at Derek before answering. Although I silently question why she was at Allison’s funeral, I don’t push the subject any further. We say our final goodbyes, and as I turn my back to follow Lydia down the stairs, I hear the door click shut behind me. For a moment, the whole building is quiet.

 

I then take a step forward and break the moment. My foot crashes down onto the concrete floor, echoing loudly down the stairs, as my other foot lands in the puddle of blood that was inside of my mere hours ago. A horrible squelching sound fills my ears, and although I shudder, I keep going down the stairs.

It’s infinitely easier going down the stairs rather than up them, although it’s clearly much easier for Lydia than it is for me. She’s rushing down the stairs quickly, her red hair disappearing around the corner as the sound of her footsteps echoing increases in speed. I try and match her speed and catch up with her, but the sudden shift in my activity puts a strain on my head, and I can feel my brain throbbing in some kind of freak head-rush that brings me dangerously close to passing out. I stop walking for a couple of seconds, trying to calm myself before continuing. Lydia, however doesn’t miss a beat and is continuing her descent without a second glance.

I call after her to slow down, which she does wordlessly; her footsteps going from a near sprint to a calm mosey down the cold, hard steps. I continue my fast pace to try and catch up with her, glancing at the floor every so often, understanding Lydia’s anger. I didn’t realise how much I was bleeding walking over here, but there’s a steady trickle of blood all over the stairs. I can’t even imagine what was running through Lydia’s thoughts as she ran up these stairs trying to find me.

Finally, as I stumble around the third of many turns down these stairs, I see her casually leaning against the wall, looking out one of the small grimy windows to the parking lot below. As I take a step forward, Lydia looks over at me and I smile politely, but she merely turns back to look out the window. My face burns up nervously as I walk towards her, silently telling myself that she has a right to be angry. I glance out the window too, seeing the sun rising high in the sky despite it still being morning, shining brightly on the cars all the way at the bottom of the building. When I reach her, she continues walking and we turn the corner together. I take a deep, silent breath, ready to battle the rest of these stairs, before I see the exit sign at the bottom of this staircase.

Mentally swearing though the pain, I jog down the stairs and swing the door open and I’m suddenly blinded by harsh sunlight directly into my eyes. I look back into the gloomy building as Lydia pushes past me nonchalantly, then back outside to the parking lot.

“What?” I murmur quietly, and then I repeat it louder, drawing Lydia’s attention. Where did the rest of these stairs go? It took me the best part of half an hour to walk up these, and walking down only took a couple of minutes? “Lydia!” I shout, as she stares at me with both alarm and anger. “How long did it take us to walk down these steps? From Derek’s loft, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” She sighs, watching me with squinted eyes, “like 10 minutes? Quarter of an hour?”

“But…” I start, still confused about where those 12-ish minutes went. What just happened?

“Stiles? What is it?” Lydia asks tentatively, taking a small step forwards. Seeing the concern on her face, I shake my head to try and sort out my muddled thoughts.

“It’s nothing.” I tell her eventually. “Just got a little disorientated.” I’m probably just still a little bit asleep and walked the rest of the way without realising.

 

Across the street, I ease myself into the passenger seat of Lydia’s car as she enters the driver’s seat gracefully. We sit in silence as she starts the car and pulls onto the road.

“Lydia, are you okay?” I ask her quietly, gauging her expression with caution. I ignore the obvious hypocrisy in the question and hope she does too.

She narrows her eyes, but continues watching the road. “I’m fine, why?”

“It’s just… It’s just you didn’t say anything at all on the way down the stairs, and you look pretty angry whenever I talk.” I sigh, watching as she scowls. I expected anger, sure. I outright lied to her face and I deserve to be treated this way, but if she doesn’t talk to me, I won’t know what to do to make it better.

“I didn’t say anything because I was trying to process what just happened, while thinking of something to say.” She grunts, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. I swallow nervously before continuing.

“Did you figure out what to say yet?” I ask sheepishly, shrinking in my seat. Lydia doesn’t respond verbally, but the way she presses harder on the accelerator to increase the speed is answer enough for me. “Look, I get you’re angry-” I start, bracing myself as the car reaches 60 mph in a 25 area.

“Angry?” She yells, cutting across me, her hair whipping across her face when she turns to face me. She suddenly stops the car and swerves to the side of the road, and my unpreparedness almost costs me a broken neck. “Stiles, I’m not angry!” She shouts in a frustrated voice, putting her car into park but leaving the engine on. “Don’t you get it? It’s not…” She trails off, looking at me and seeing my terrified expression. “Why did you lie? Don’t you trust me at all?”

I’m momentarily thrown by the question, and my mouth dries up almost instantly. I watch her hurt expression for a couple of seconds before my brain finally kick starts. “What? Of course I trust you! I trust you more than anyone in the world!” I whisper, scared that she would even ask such a thing.

“Then… Then what is it? Does our friendship mean nothing to you?” She asks, close to tears.

“Lydia, look at me.” I state, turning to face her fully as I grip both of her hands. She struggles feebly but I hold them tighter, until her teary eyes meet mine. “You are one of the most important people in my life, you have been for years. I couldn’t live without you as my friend. None of that has changed, and it never will.”

“Then what is it? Why didn’t you tell me?” She sniffles, tenderly holding my hands as a shudder is sent down my spine.

“I was…” I stutter, reluctant to start. I look down before continuing. “I’m scared, Lydia. I’m scared of what’s going to happen, I’m scared of what’s happening to the Nemeton, I’m scared of what did this to me. But I’m mostly just scared of myself. I’m still not sure if the Nogitsune really left. I was, at first, but more and more weird things have been happening and I feel like I’ve been through this before. I just don’t want anyone else to be hurt because of me.” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes.

“Stiles… what the Nogitsune did, even if it was using your body, it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t you.” She soothes, the sudden change in the tone of her voice goading me to look at her. Although tears threatened to appear minutes ago, it looks like she’s determined not to cry. Her features have developed a certain fierceness that wasn’t as clear before. It doesn’t distract me from her pleading expression and her worried eyes, and I have to avert my gaze to outside the small window beside me.

“I know that, Lydia, I do. There’s a small part of my brain, the rational thinking part, that’s screaming at me to stop feeling sorry for myself.” I sigh, my breathing fogging up the window as I talk, while I watch the cars drive past. Every once in a while, a vehicle slows down to turn the corner near us, and I catch a glimpse of the driver or the passengers. They all look calm, unaware of the problems plaguing this town because of us… because of me. “But it’s different when it’s _you_ there. I still see the things these hands did whenever I close my eyes.” I tell her slowly, looking at my shaking hands and still seeing blood all over them, still feeling the warm, sticky liquid over them. “It’s because of that that the rest of my brain is telling me that it’s my fault, it wouldn’t have happened if I was stronger, if I was better. I can barely look at Scott anymore because of what I did, and man, you should’ve seen the look he gave me when I showed up in his house this morning. The fear, the anger, it really put things into perspective.” I laugh bitterly, recalling Scott’s shocked face as I try to pinpoint what emotions were there.

I finally turn to face Lydia, who looks like she wants to say something, but can’t find the words. Her eyes still now show only pity.

“Tell me something, honestly. What did you think had happened to me this past month?”  I question her, hoping to ease my mind in any way.

“Honestly?” She admits, leaving a slight pause before answering. “I thought you were dead. That doesn’t mean I gave up looking for a second.” She backtracks, seeing the hurt look on my face as the wind is kicked out of me. “I obviously didn’t _want_ to believe that, but a month is a long time, Stiles, and with no word? Everyone was thinking different things, telling me that you’d be back, telling me you wouldn’t, and different people had different stories.”

“I get it, you don’t have to explain.” I sigh, leaning back into the soft car seat. I should have seen that coming, really. I guess that’s better than them thinking I just left, or something worse.

“Stiles, look at me.” Lydia urges, and I listen. “You’re right; I don’t know what you’ve been through, and I guess none of us can really understand what you’ve been through. But what I do know is that none of us think that anything that happened was your fault. You’ve got to talk to me Stiles, talk to anyone. We want to help you, but we can’t do that if you don’t tell us anything, okay?”

I don’t say anything for a while, as I try and register what she said. I knew all that before, I guess, but a part of me really did need to hear that. I find it hard it hard to see what she means however, because there’s no way expressing my feelings is gonna help anyone, and whenever I try and be truthful, there are consequences. I can’t explain what happened, because what if they die because of me? If Scott or Lydia or hell, even Derek died because of me again I doubt I’d be able to live with myself. Why can’t she see that I’m trying to protect her from me? Why won’t she let me help her?

 

Of course, I’m not gonna tell her any of that. Lydia needs to hear what she wants to hear from me, even if we both know that’s not how I feel.

“I’m sorry Lydia, but we both know I can’t do that.”

Wait _what?_ Before I even register what’s happened, the words leave my lips. That’s not what I meant to say at all, and all I can see is Lydia’s mouth drop a little at my frank reply.

“What?” Lydia gasps, as my mind goes blank.

“What I meant is… is… it’s hard for me to admit these things to Scott. I know what his reaction is gonna be, and I’m trying to avoid that. I don’t want him to worry about stupid things, unless it’s totally necessary. That’s what I was going for with you too.” I stammer out, trying to fill the awkward silence after my outburst seconds earlier. Lydia watches me suspiciously as I talk.

“’Stupid things’? Stiles, you almost died! If your life was in any danger, then that would take priority, you know that.” Lydia sighs angrily, watching my face as I process her words.

“That’s my point! I don’t want that to happen! This is my mess, and I don’t want to drag anyone else into it. If it really does turn out to be a problem, then I can deal with it.” I argue, ignoring any hitch in my voice that shows clearly that I do not think I could deal with it. “Look, I’m sorry for lying to you. Really, I am. But just because I felt awful doing it doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t do it again. I still think that I did the right thing in not telling you what actually happened originally, because now that you do know, you feel much worse than before, right?”

“Of course I feel worse now, I just realised that you almost died twice in the past 12 hours!” Lydia shouts angrily as she shakes her head, obviously disagreeing with what I said. “But what was worse, was finding out that you’d lied to my face. It felt like you didn’t trust me anymore.”

“I just didn’t want to be the problem!” I yell finally, silencing Lydia. “I thought if I did die, then at least none of you were pulled into my problems.” I continue, softer. “At least if I was dead, none of you would die because of me.”

Lydia sighs, and puts her head on the steering wheel lightly. “You idiot.” She finally grits out, raising her head to look at me. “Can’t you hear yourself talk? If you died, _everyone_ would be trying to figure out what happened. You know how self-sacrificial Scott is, he’d risk his life for yours in a heartbeat. No matter what you did, we’d get involved immediately, because we _care_ about you, you fucking idiot.” She informs me, finally restarting the car, as she calmly continues driving. “You lying about it will only make it worse, in the end. A part of you must know that.”

I push my head back against the headrest as her words really hit me. I was so caught up in thinking of a plausible lie last night that I never truly considered what it would be like telling the truth. That way, I probably would’ve had the medical attention I desperately need, because no matter how hard I try to convince myself that I’m fine, I still feel like I’m one slight breeze from unravelling. I’d still have my doubts about the whole ordeal, and I still can’t even begin to think what would happen if anyone died, but that’s my normal paranoid self.

“I really didn’t think this through.” I smile, unable to help myself. “My first thought was to immediately cover up what happened, which says a lot about me.” I laugh, as Lydia nods next to me, her eyes pinned on the road. “I need your help telling Scott. If I do it alone I’ll end up saying a different, completely contradictory lie.”

“Are you sure you want to tell him everything?” She asks me, making sure I’m in the right mind.

“Even though my mind is screaming about how this will go disastrously wrong, it’s the thing I have to do. If it was reversed, he would tell me in a heartbeat and he deserves the same from me.” I shrug, my mind still in turmoil as I try and convince myself. “Unless you think that it’s a mistake telling him everything?” I suddenly backtrack.

“One step at a time, Stiles. What are you gonna tell your dad?” She queries, a small smile on her face.

“Oh, man.” I swallow, my stomach dropping very suddenly. “I completely forgot that he’s waiting for a detailed explanation. I have no idea what to tell them.” I confess, looking at her face to see if she can help me.

“You’d better think fast.” She replies instead, turning the steering wheel as we go around the corner. She stops the car again, slowly this time, and I look out the window to try and see why she stopped. Then I see my house. “Because we’re already there.”’


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm just gonna say a few things here that aren't entirely important, but hey.  
> 1) if the middle part doesn't make much sense, thats because i wrote most of it between 1am and 8am with a shit ton of coffee in my system. it made sense at the time, but reading over it, i realized i had spelled Scott as Stoctc about 5 times in the space of 2 sentences.  
> 2) i'm also gonna apologize in advance. before reading this chapter it isn't gonna make much sense, but something gets resolved here and there's this thing.. just, i'm sorry. i'm so sorry.  
> 3) i know last chapter i said that it was supposed to be part of a longer chapter, so i cut it down, but jesus christ this is still 29 pages long i didn't even realize have fun.  
> 4) lastly, i'm gonna try and update this asap, but i write them on the spot, and if the chapters stay this length, it might take a while, but bear with bc i am updating still.
> 
> ok guys, as always, enjoy this chapter and please remember to comment and whatnot if you want to say something. thank yall for reading

“Lydia” I gasp, turning to her with my eyes widened in fright. “I’m not ready for this. What do I…” I stammer, running a hand through my hair, and hoping the wet feeling on my forehead is sweat, and not blood. “How would I- What do I-”

“Stiles, chill. It’s only 10:30, they’re both probably still asleep. You have time just to think this out… and maybe change.” She adds, after looking me up and down. She’s probably trying to calm me down after noticing how flustered I’m getting, which can only lead to more blood loss.

I try to take a deep breath, but let out a shaky laugh as I look at my clothes at her comment. The dark pattern on my shirt is almost precise, where it’s bled through in the shape of delicate claw marks, smudged only slightly by the size and amount of blood there. Surprisingly, there’s no rips on it from my attack, which never occurred to me earlier. It’s probably just because my shirt rode up before I was hit. There are trickles of blood on my shirt too, probably dripping down from my face. My left leg may as well have been submerged in blood, as everything below my knee is stained red. All of a sudden the sight of the blood makes me nauseous, bile rising up my throat as flashes of memories resurface. The hospital, the police station, Coach with an arrow in his stomach, Allison… all because of me. I glance at my hands, pink from both blood and the chill in my bones, and think to myself if I can ever really get this blood off my hands for good. “Asleep?” I finally cough out, all thoughts of laughing wiped from my mind as I swallow nervously. “They both have pretty important jobs in town, can they really afford to sleep in this late?” I ask slowly, secretly thinking selfishly about how they should be awake considering I just got back, but I push that thought down. “Wait, they still have their jobs, don’t they?” I question her, my stomach dropping at the thought of my dad losing his job as the Sheriff, probably because of my disappearance.

“Calm down Stiles, they both still have their jobs. Melissa took the late shifts, so she sleeps in late, and the sheriff’s department let your dad take a week off, due to… recent circumstances.” She finishes lamely, but succeeding to quell my fears slightly.

“Well, how much time do I have?” I finally ask, swallowing any bitter comment that threatened to arise.

“I’d say until 12? With the late nights they’ve had it could be later, but I’d say a good hour and a half.” Lydia informs me, as she removes the keys from the ignition. I sit there nodding to myself for a moment, my brain whirring to try and devise a strategy, before I finally swing the car door open and, after making sure I step on my right foot first, I step out quickly. I glance at my seat momentarily as I turn to slam the door shut, wincing both at the sudden loud noise and the reddish tinge on her cream-coloured seats. I mutter a silent apology to both Lydia and her car as I feel a tinge of sadness at the loss of my Jeep.

Lydia exits the car at the same moment I do, faltering only slightly at my forlorn expression as I look through the car window. She doesn’t question it, or if she does, it isn’t out loud, and she walks towards me, snapping me out of my trance as she asks if I’m alright.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” I repeat, trying to sound confident the second time even though my voice broke halfway through. I swivel painfully on my heel to face my house, both looking so inviting and desolate at the same time. I take my first step before a thought occurs to me; “Can- uh, can Banshees walk through… can you walk through mountain ash?”

My brief encounter with the force field earlier left me shaken and confused, and I can hear a faint humming emanating from the house like an electric fence that leaves me shaking in my shoes even now. I’m not sure if going through it will have the same effect as it did before, and I’m hoping I don’t have to find out.

“Nope. It blocks out most supernatural entities, Banshees being on that list.” She shrugs simply, walking towards the house at my side. She must see me struggling in the corner of her eye because the next thing I know is she’s taking my hand in hers as she supports me down the driveway. “But you could just go in and disable it, can’t you?”

I swallow nervously, my stomach dropping again as I grit my teeth. “Sure.” I laugh nervously after a brief pause, and I mentally scream profanities as I’m put under pressure again. I feel my cold palm become sweaty in Lydia’s warm hand, so I remove it from her grasp, instead opting to put my arm around her shoulder instead, not putting all my weight on her, but still relying for support. 

She must’ve seen my grit my teeth, or felt me tense up beside her, because she glances over at me with worry in her eyes. “Are you alright? Is it your leg?” She worries, wincing as she looks down at my blood soaked trouser leg, leaving bloody marks down the driveway.

“No, no, I’m fine.” I tell her grimly, trying to sound more upbeat than I feel, but the façade immediately smashes and I let out a deep sigh. “No… I’m not. Look Lydia, I‘m gonna be honest with you. I don’t know what’s happened, or is continuing to happen to me,” I start nervously, while Lydia stops suddenly outside the door and looks up to me, concern laden in her features as she stares directly into my eyes. “It’s just, last time I was here, I barely got through the barrier.” Lydia opens her mouth, as if to question what I meant, but I quickly cut across her. “’Barely’ being the key word, because I did get through, it just felt that I had to swim through quicksand to get to the other side. I’m hoping that it’s just an after effect of possession, but does that even work? I mean, if I was supernatural, I’d either be able to go through mountain ash, or I wouldn’t, right? But then there’s Scott, but he’s a true alpha, and even he had more trouble than I did. I was thinking then that maybe it left some residual energy in my head, like a supernatural cyborg, part human, part supernatural, both able and unable to go through the ash? Schrödinger’s Stiles.” I ramble, well aware that my words are making less and less sense, but find myself unable to halt the verbal diarrhoea.

“Well, _Schrödinger’s Stiles,_ how about instead of bitching about how you don’t know what happening, actually try doing it.” She smirks, still unmoving as she reaches a hand out in front of her, almost touching the front door, only to get it zapped back, like a small electric shock.

“But what if I can’t get through?” I moan, unprepared to face the implication that the Nogitsune had nothing to do with it and that whatever attacked me had some ulterior motive to turn me. While saying this, I remove my arm from around Lydia’s shoulder, and shuffle slightly away from her, as far as my leg allows.

“Well then we’re gonna be stuck out here for a while.” She jokes, before seeing the expression on my face, and she softens immediately. “You said that last time you got through, right? Even if it was ‘barely’, you still got through? So, if what you think about a part of the Nogitsune still being inside you is true, then why would this time be any different? Plus, who knows, maybe while you’ve been awake, the residual whatever faded away?” She suggests, and I listen to her words before responding.

“Alright, but if I die again, I’m gonna be pretty pissed off.” I tell her gruffly, my attempt at humour dying on my lips, leaving a rather awkward silence as I prepare myself.

 

Taking a deep breath, I take my first step forward, crossing where I hope the ash barrier is. It’s about a meter away, and I know immediately as my foot sinks into a thick patch of what seems to be empty air, slowing down my movements considerably. Pushing forward, I notice that the feeling is different, and I’m not sure if it’s because I was actually expecting it this time, or because what Lydia offered earlier about it fading. It could be completely in my head, in retrospect.

I raise both my arms and push them forward, feeling the barrier tickle my palms before spreading up my arms. The odd, thick feeling still lingers as I physically push my hands up against the door, turning the doorknob to swing it open. My foot finally hits the floor, still not completely through the barrier, and I lean forward to push my torso through, while dragging my left leg in behind me.

From this angle, it’s hard to gather much momentum to push myself through, so I mostly just lean forward and wait for gravity to do its work. That is, until it doesn’t.

My body was falling at a slow pace through the invisible wall blocking me from my own house, but is now slowing down until an eventual pause, showing that I’d stopped moving completely. I suppress a laugh at the hopeless situation I’d found myself in, as I feel a bead of sweat trickle down my forehead.

“Stiles?” I hear Lydia ask behind me, her voice sounding like I was underwater. I try to turn my head, but the angle I’m in is very restricting, and I can barely see her.

“Don’t worry, I got this!” I yell, pushing down slowly but forcefully with my left foot, using the pain to fuel myself forward. I feel myself starting to heat up, probably due to the strain I’m putting my body under. Finally, I start to move forward again, my face now sweating profusely as I heat up.

“Stiles!” I hear Lydia mumble behind me, more forcefully than before, yet sounding quieter, but I press forward as I near the end. It’s possible she shouted, but I but everything seems muffled to me.

As my hands reach the edge of the barrier, I yelp loudly as they start burning. “Shit, that’s hot! Why is that so hot?” I stammer out, only now realising how hot I am. I look down to where my foot presses against the barrier, and see my trouser leg starting to burn around the edge, and I pull my hands back in order to turn around as Lydia shouts my name a third time.

Using extreme amounts of willpower, I manage to turn my shoulders and neck 90° so that I can turn around and see Lydia as I start to burn.

“Lydia!” I shout, not even sure if she can hear me.”What’s happening?”

She looks above my head, and I follow her gaze, to see that the air encompassing me has turned red, and feels burning hot. “What’s happening?” I yell again, and I see Lydia look directly at my lips when I talk, telling me that she can’t hear me at all, and unless she’s learnt to lip read, there’s no way to communicate. I see my skin turn from pink to red, as I start to pant in the immense heat that only seems to get hotter. I see Lydia say something in front of me, and although I can’t hear her at all, it’s obvious what she said. _Stiles_.

I raise my hand and place it on the barrier, as if it was merely a glass window, and I ignore the burning sensation on my palm as I look into her eyes, muttering her name, as I start to push forward, desperate for some kind of release from this boiling death trap. I can almost hear the skin of my hand sizzling and blistering, but I refuse to remove it, no matter how futile the endeavour. Lydia raises her hand too, and for a second it seems like she’s about to place it over mine, but instead she pushes her hand forward lightning fast, breaking through the wall and connecting with my chest with a power I didn’t know Lydia possessed. The air around me starts to crackle with electricity, and then suddenly I shoot backwards, smashing through the ash line and ending up sprawled out on my living room floor, everything in pain.

Not even pausing to catch a breath, I push myself up with one hand and limp over to the fake burglar alarm next to the door to switch the now calm barrier next to me off. I slump down onto the floor, breathing heavily when Lydia finally steps through the door to kneel in front of me.

“Stiles… Stiles!” She whispers furiously, slapping my face lightly to get my attention. I sit up straighter while still leaning against the wall, opening my eyes one at a time as I look directly into her eyes.

“I’m alright, it’s fine… but what… what was that?” I pant, my skin still prickling as it sweats, my skin boiling hot to the touch, but leaving an eerie chill settling in my bones. I shudder subtly, but there isn’t enough rational thinking left to consider why I’m cold even though I was almost burnt alive moments ago.

“Stop doing that!” She sighs in relief, punching me lightly in the shoulder, and I swallow down a flinch so that I can smile at her, to try and alleviate her worry. There are tears in her eyes as she sits on the floor in front of me.

“I’m sorry Lyds, I really am. Y’know, almost dying isn’t that much fun for me either you know.” I smile, sweat still dripping down my brow. Deep down, I know next time something like this happens, I might not make it out alive. A part of me, a larger part than I’d ever admit, hopes that I don’t make it. It’s some sort of cruel punishment to keep bringing me back when I’m so ready to just end it. However, I continue to smile weakly at Lydia in front of me. 

“Are you sure you’re alright? I could see you… your hand… it was just burning right in front of my eyes.” She swallows, making a move to grab my hand, which I only now realise is still throbbing violently. She gingerly turns it over and runs a finger over by burnt flesh, and I see it for the first time. My whole palm, from my wrist to my fingertips, is dark red, almost like fire itself. Across the lengths of my fingers, and the top and bottom of my palm, are blackened blisters, probably from where my hand was resting against the barrier. Disgusted, and slightly embarrassed, I pull my hand away from Lydia’s grasp and tuck it behind me. I try to make a fist, but it starts burning up to extreme temperatures as pain radiates through my arm like a whip. I leave it how it is, and try not to move it.

“What about you? What was that? You punched right through the barrier.” I question her, evading her cold stares and worried features.

“I- I guess it was another Banshee thing? That’s never happened before.” Lydia says slowly, shrugging nervously, seemingly accepting my dismissal.

“That could get pretty handy if it ever happens again… whatever that was.” I chuckle lightly, leaning my head against the wall behind me. As much as I’d care to pretend that I’m fine, that whole ordeal took a lot out of me.

“That didn’t happen the first time you crossed the barrier this morning?” She wonders, drawing my memory from early this morning back.

“No, it wasn’t that bad at all. For one, I managed to make it through without third degree burns,” I start light-heartedly, a smile on my face, but it falters when she doesn’t smile back. I bulldoze onwards nonetheless. “But really, what does this mean? If it’s getting worse?” I leave the last question unasked, but we both heard it; _what’s happening to me?_  

“Stiles…” Lydia soothes, making a point of grabbing my uninjured hand. “So what if you can’t go through mountain ash? I can’t, Scott can’t, we’ve managed, right?”

“It’s not that.” I admit, because at this moment I’m completely okay with not crossing a line of ash like, ever again. But there was another thing on my mind. “You know when the Nogitsune split from my body into an identical me? Well, the Nogitsune took my original body, and within days, it disintegrated into nothing. Now, _this_ body,” I sigh, motioning down, a small break in my voice, “is just over a month old, and it just materialised out of nothing. I genuinely didn’t know if I was human anymore, and to be honest, I still don’t. The inability to cross the barrier is only furthering my fear. Because if I’m not human, what am I?”

“You can’t take what the Nogitsune did and try and apply logic to it. The reason it possessed you was because you sacrificed yourself to a magic tree, and Scott and I entered your mind after stabbing you in the neck with his werewolf claws, causing it to vomit out a pile of bandages from where you emerged.” She sighs, frowning at my confession, but in a supportive, worried way.

“I know. I know all that. It’s just- when it happens to you, it makes you feel… different, I guess.” I sigh exasperatedly, unable to really relay what I’m thinking. It shouldn’t be that hard to explain, that I don’t really feel like me anymore, that I don’t even know who _me_ is. That the Nogitsune created me, so a part of it would always plague my mind, my soul. “I’m not sure I’m me anymore.” I finish simply, unable, or unwilling, to continue.

“Of course you’re you.” Lydia puts matter-of-factly, almost confused I’d even suggest such a thing. “Who else would you be?”

“I can still hear the Nogitsune, you know. Whispering things in my head, like a part of it’ll always be there. Every time I talk, I have to filter what I say just in case I use ‘we’ instead of ‘I’, or in case I say something the voice tells me to say. It’s really tiring putting so much effort into censoring yourself to the point that you’re scared to say anything at all.” I complain, trying to play down my real emotions by comparing this to an actual complaint, rather than an existential crisis. I sort of expected Lydia to understand, to a point, after her encounter with Peter Hale last year. From the little she’s actually admitted, it sounded like Peter invaded her dreams just as much the Nogitsune did mine, at a certain point. I guess, because she knew that she _wasn’t_ a teenage boy, flirting with herself, it was never really a case of missing identity. The Nogitsune took over my body, my life, making people doubt who I was, making me doubt myself.

“Stiles, the Nogitsune is gone, you know that, right?” Lydia hesitates, sensing a certain shift in my behaviour or mood. A part of me wanted to agree with her, because she’s probably right. Another part is downright disagreeing, saying how it was and always will be a part of my soul, like some kind of cancer. Then there’s this one little voice, quiet in comparison, but made louder as my fears grew. A rasping voice, both sounding like me, but also not, telling us that we’ve been around for hundreds of years, and a simple plot by mindless teenagers couldn’t counteract that, couldn’t undo the destruction and strife we’d already caused. I hear myself think in plurals more and more often, but I can’t seem to stop it, each time like another needle going in my head, numbing the part of my brain telling me that it was gone.

“Sure. Yeah, I know that.” I lie unconvincingly, as a giggle erupts in the back of my mind. I find myself smiling, but quickly stop myself, as the giggling grew to an ear-splitting laugh. “I’m just gonna go and change. Can’t go looking as if I’d fought everyone in town when they see me.” I joke, standing up suddenly, and trying not to see Lydia’s sceptical glare. “You can just sit by a table, or something. I’ll only be a minute.”   

I suddenly found myself unable to stand being in these blood-soaked clothes a minute longer, feeling every individual, sticky droplet of it on my skin like heavy rain. Ignoring the head rush from getting up too suddenly, I walk over to the stairs on the other side of the room, trying desperately to not limp, just to make this distance uninterrupted, and to not die again.

“Are you okay?” I hear Lydia call from behind me, concern laden in her voice.

“I’m fine. Doing A-OK.” I declare, trudging up the stairs silently, as I hold my head high, and refuse to falter under the immense pain from various areas of my body. I make it to the second to last step before faltering slightly, not lifting my foot enough and causing my to trip up the last step, jarring my whole leg. I clench my teeth to keep myself from shouting in pain, and after a second, I make a beeline for my bedroom, the door shut.

 

I finally crash through the now open doorway, and go sprawling onto my bed before feeling uneasy. I lean back against the wall, taking in the atmosphere of weariness. The last time I’d actually slept in this bed was… well, was months ago. Even before the Nogitsune, I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a while. But the bed seems pretty warm now, although that could have just been my overly sensitive skin after my ordeal. I finger the middle of the bed, feeling the pastel blue bed sheet, but my fingers hesitate as they detect an obvious dent in the bed. Small, and insignificant, but there none the less, with the memory of stabbing my own bed fresh in my mind. I wasn’t exactly in the right mind when it happened, probably still flustered from taking control of the Nogitsune long enough to leave clues, but I was still able to tie all the strings to the handle of the scissors, before plunging them into the springy mattress, and escaping via the open window.

The same window was open now, giving a fresh-air smell to the room, although I can still smell the fear, the panic, and the terror that was inflicted in these small chambers, on this vey bed. My cluttered theories and estimations still litter the walls, as if dad didn’t want to disturb anything for when I came back. I glance over the news articles from Eichen House, and from several different incidents before snorting lightly. Man, didn’t we get it wrong. No one even suspected that it would’ve been us at the helm of the next supernatural apocalypse bus.

I walk across the dark room, and start sweeping my arms over the wall, the strings coming undone, and the pieces of paper falling lightly to the floor, like some kind of blossom falling from a tree in spring. It starts feeling slightly cathartic for a minute, getting rid of the cobwebs, so to speak. Getting rid of all the memories that went with this room. After another minute though, the realisation hit that I’d remember no matter what was on this wall. That’s when it turned to anger, aggressively sweeping the papers off with a single sweep of my arm, ripping the pages down and tearing them into smaller pieces, as if these pages were the metaphorical memories, and I was doing what I’d always be too scared to do. I must’ve leant too far to the right, or brushed too aggressively against the wall, but all over a sudden, the exercise put too much pressure on my chest, and I had both trouble breathing and a blinding pain in one fell swoop.

Instead of falling, I sat back down on my bed, trying to take deep breaths to calm myself. I look down at the floor, the papers that were so neatly stacked a second ago, now all over the floor, jumbled up and in the way. I would clean them up, but I’m too busy laughing at the irony of the previous connection I made with these papers being my memories, but ripping them up only made them spread further on the floor, and now they were undoubtedly in the way. 

Sighing, I get up and walk over towards my wardrobe, peeling off my completely ruined shirt, and bury it deep in the corner, eager to hide any evidence that anything had happened at all. I turn to the mirror to my slight left, looking at my deathly pale chest and reddish bandage wrapped around it. With the almost nimble fingers of my uninjured hand, I start undoing the bandage, peeling it back and around myself to undo it, watching as the further in I got, the darker red it became. It becomes wet in my hand as I near the end, leaving bloody streaks all over my palm. My burnt hand hangs limply by my hips, as I remove the gauze with one hand. When it’s finally free, the air stings the deep gashes in my chest as I drop the ruined gauze in the trash. I hesitate for a second, thinking anyone could come in here and see the bloody mess in there, so I remove it and place it on top of my shirt in the wardrobe, where it can at least stay hidden for a while.

I fish out the hoard of medical supplies that I’d collected over the years, placing them on my freshly made bed, watching as they bounce and roll in different directions. I pay no attention to that, instead turning to the mirror again, inspecting the claw marks raked across my chest. I gingerly use one finger to touch it, before recoiling in pain after feeling the ruined flesh under my fingertip. I grab something- a wet wipe, and delicately dab along the side, cleaning the wound as best as I can. The wipe quickly turns red with blood as I clean up the mess, so I snag another one before completing the task. Finally satisfied that the blood is gone, for now at least, I reach over to grab more of the gauze to my side, and begin the lengthy process of bandaging myself up again. I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve had slightly more practice, or if I’m just more alert about what I’m doing, but it seems generally easier to wrap it around me, even with only one working hand. It only takes a couple of minutes before I’m content enough to leave it be, and after another quick inspection in the mirror, I can see it’s not bleeding through. Not yet anyway, I think grimly. Pushing that thought out of my mind, I place the remaining gauze- enough for my leg and then some- back on the bed, and reach over to the wardrobe to grab another shirt, a dark one, preferably. I find a navy t-shirt, and a gray jacket, and remove them from the hangers to place on my bed. I glance in the mirror quickly in passing, but something catches my eye. I narrow my eyes, squinting at the dark shadow that appears to be standing in the doorway behind me. At first I think it must be Lydia, coming to check up on me, but the assailant takes a step forward, and I feel my stomach drop. It’s me. No, no- it’s the Nogitsune.

 

I spin around suddenly, but am surprised with the face I actually see, a couple of feet away from me, watching me nervously.

“Isaac?” I ask, distinctly remembering Scott telling me he was in France. He doesn’t look at all different from when I remember him last, over a month ago. The same golden brown hair with the puppy-dog eyes, the same lanky build. And the scarf, oh my god, always with the scarf.

“Stiles.” He responds curtly, nodding his head as if neither of us were gone. He leans against the doorframe casually, and even though his calm bravado, he still seems a little surprised to see me, I think. “What’s up?”

“Oh, you know. Nothing much, I’ve been missing for a month, the usual.” I respond sarcastically, both annoyed but strangely grateful that he isn’t making a big deal about it, that he’s treating me exactly the same as before. It’s refreshing.

“Not that, I meant what’s up with _that_?” He explains, motioning flamboyantly with his hand at my shirtless form and bandaged torso. It’s then I remember that I am, in fact, still shirtless. I grab the navy shirt and put it on before replying.

“Just another supernatural entity out to get me, you know how it is.” I groan, noticing a flash of worry in his eyes as he studies me, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual smug arrogance.

“Never a dull moment with you, is it?” He murmurs, leaning against the doorframe again and crossing his arms loosely across his chest.

“That’s Beacon Hills for you.” I tell him, and he hums in agreement, leaving an almost wistful look in his eyes. “Hey wait, aren’t you supposed to be in France or something?”

Isaac snaps his gaze back to me, confusion furrowing his brow. “France?”

“Yeah, France. You know, the country?” I repeat, unsure why he doesn’t understand. Unless… unless Scott lied to us- me?

“Is that what they told you?” Isaac laughs darkly, and I shake my head before even considering who _they_ were.

“It’s what _Scott_ told me.” I correct him, and he nods knowingly. Why would Scott lie to me? No, I’m jumping to conclusions, there’s got to be a good reason for this.

“Figures.” Isaac states simply, as he stands up straight again, his body language showing a shift in his attitude. His mouth sets into a line, showing no emotion.

“What figures?” I question him, taking a tentative step forward, but see him taking one back. He and Scott were pretty close, what happened to them?

“Nothing, I was just talking to myself. Tell Scott I say hey.” Isaac deadpans, covering something up.

“Tell him yourself.” I grunt in annoyance. Why does everyone insist on lying to me? And yes, the irony isn’t lost on me.

“Stiles, please.” He pleads, suddenly taking a step forward. I’m in shock at his sudden desperation. “I mean, you’re probably gonna see him first, right?” He clears his throat, trying to undo whatever he was showing there.

I watch his face change from desperate to chilled, as if thinking what to say next. “Sure, I’ll tell him. Is that it? I mean, just ‘hey’?”

“Yeah, just hey. He’ll get the message.” He smiles to himself, as if thinking about a private joke.

“ _That_ doesn’t sound ominous.” I whisper sarcastically, turning around to pick up the gray jacket I left lying on the bed. “Hey, what are you actually doing here?” I finally ask, trying not to sound too accusing when he’s already pretty raw with this whole Scott situation. He doesn’t answer me, so I turn back around while putting on my jacket, the fabric smooth on my pale arms. He’s not in the doorway anymore, either. He must’ve walked off. “Good to see you too.” I grumble, moving to continue my changing.

Following the same process, I remove my shoes, socks, trousers and bloody bandages, wash the crooked gouges in my leg, before looking to find the gauze I put down. I immediately notice that it’s not where I put it. It’s not anywhere, actually. I rummage through the supplies on my bed, look down the side or on the floor, but there’s no sign of it. I’m about to give up and put on a pair of khakis when I notice my leg already has bandages on it. Clean, not bloody, completely fresh bandages. Did I do that? Did I actually wrap my leg in bandages without realising? I place my hand on it, and yep, they’re real. And they’ve been put on pretty professionally, which is pretty unnerving.

Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, I put on my clean trousers, and run a hand through my hair, causing a landslide of dust to cascade across my face. I shake my head like a wet dog, smiling to myself at how odd I must look. I reach out to push the door open, but I forget about the horrific burns and I relapse in pain for a second, muttering many loud swears in anger. I was hoping to put some gauze on my hand too, but in my dream-state, I used the remaining gauze on my leg without realising. There’s definitely a medical kit in the kitchen, maybe I can use that.

I walk downstairs calmly, rubbing my arms when I start to shiver again. Lydia’s sitting at the kitchen table, looking at her phone with a weary expression, until I step on the last stair, which emits a loud creak. Lydia snaps her gaze towards me and smiles warmly at my fresh appearance.

“Took you long enough. You feeling any better?” Lydia asks as I sit down opposite her, wringing my hands carefully.

“Oh yeah, that bout really healed all my injuries.” I respond, my attitude snarky.

“That’s not what I meant.” She frowns, pushing her phone to the side of the table, waiting for it to lock automatically. I inadvertently glance over to her phone nosily, and I see that she’s exchanging messages with Scott, and I see my name at least twice. I don’t see any details, and the screen turns to black before I can.

“I know what you meant.” I sigh, guessing that she’s probably relaying any weird behaviour and whatnot to Scott. Why she couldn’t just wait until I spoke to him later, I don’t know, but I can’t doubt her methods. “Everything I said before still stands, as does everything I _didn’t_ say but you heard nonetheless.”

“If you want to-” She starts.

“I don’t.” I cut across her. “Not yet at least. Just let my thoughts settle before talking about it.”

“Stiles…”

“Do you want a drink? Some coffee or something?” I ask abruptly, cutting across her yet again. It’s not like I _want_ to be rude to her, but I just don’t want everything to revolve around me the whole time. I just want to have a normal conversation with her, just once.

“Fine, coffee. Whatever.” Lydia groans exasperatedly, getting the hint to drop the subject.

 

When I get up to make her drink, I glance around the room to see if Isaac came down, but the place is empty. Maybe he just left? I pick up a mug and almost turn around to ask Lydia if she saw him but she interrupts me.

“What are you doing?” Her voice rings behind me. I look down at the cup in my hands questioningly before answering.

“Making you a coffee?” I reply slowly, turning around to see a mug already in her hands.

“You just made one for me.” She reminds me, and the smell of freshly made coffee finally wafts into my nose. I rack my brain to remember if I made one before going to change, but I can’t find the memory of making her anything. It must be one of the time lapses I keep having. What is that now, the fourth? They’re becoming more frequent now, which can’t be a good sign.

“Right… yeah, sure. I knew that.” I swallow uncertainly, placing the mug back and returning to my seat. “Did I say anything just then?” I ask casually.

“Yeah, we were talking about what you were gonna say to your dad, don’t you remember?”

“I think I must have a concussion or something, I don’t remember that at all.” I mutter, rubbing my temple delicately, remembering when I hit it earlier.

“You do have a bruise and a cut on your temple.” She notes, after I recoil in pain. “But missing time isn’t really common with concussions. Sure, you get memory problems, but this is on another scale. I guess it _could_ be some kind of memory issue, and if that’s the case, it should clear up in a couple days.” She adds as an afterthought, making me sweat nervously. This might not be connected to my concussion?

We sit there in silence for a while, me thinking about what could be wrong with me, and Lydia probably wondering what to ask me, until her phone vibrates, signifying a new message. I see that name Scott pop up briefly.

“So how’s Scott?” I ask nonchalantly, motioning to the phone.

“He and Kira just went for breakfast together, they’re having a good time, I think.” She replies, without really looking at me. I look at her curiously, knowing she isn’t telling me something, but I don’t push it any further.

“Do you still think there’s something, I don’t know… off about him?” I wonder, thinking back to my encounter with Isaac, and what he isn’t telling me.

“Stiles, I’m not doing this with you now, you don’t need any more things to doubt.” Lydia tells me. I know she’s trying to help my feelings, but I just can’t help think something was different about him earlier.

“I know that, it’s just… something doesn’t feel right.” I mutter, not really expecting a follow-up, as Lydia just looks at me curiously, but silently.

“Stiles?” Lydia says after a minute of silent thinking.

“Yeah?” I respond, raising my head to meet her gaze.

“What?”

“What ‘what’?” I question, confused by her demanding tone. She started the conversation, what does she expect me to say?

“You just stopped talking halfway through a sentence.” She says, in the same tone of voice I was questioning her. I tilt my head to the side and narrow my eyes in confusion, trying to remember what I’d said, but the last thing I _did_ say was definitely a full sentence.

“I did?” I ask, eyes flickering down to the empty coffee mug in her hands. Hold up, empty? “Oh god damn, I must’ve blacked out again.” I curse quietly.

Lydia watches me with concern on her face before leaning forward until her face was centimetres away from mine, and I instinctively hold my breath. She places one finger under my chin and pushes my head upwards into the sun light, probably watching my pupils to see if they dilate. After watching my eyes closely, she leans back again, and holds up 3 fingers, asking me how many there were. I tell her that there were three fingers, and she nods.

“I’m not sure if you have a concussion. I mean, you definitely hit your head hard enough to get one, and you’re having these weird memory issues, but you can see fine, and your pupils react to light normally. Until we know for sure what _this_ it, can you just tell me whenever this happens?” She reports, causing me to smile.

“Oh great. I actually _am_ going crazy then, I thought I was just concussed.” I smile sarcastically, clapping my hands together, realising my mistake a second too late. I feel my burnt hand throb and burn, as if it was on hot coals, and I curse loudly in pain. I try and place it gently on the table, to feel a cool surface, but that only aggravates the pain. Wordlessly, Lydia looks around the room, before apparently locating whatever she was searching for. She gets up, and walks over to the kitchen cabinet, retrieving the medical kit from the corner, before returning to her seat.

“Here, let me get that for you.” She soothes, holding my wrist carefully and flips it over. Her eyes freeze over the burnt flesh for a couple of seconds, and she bites her lip before finally getting the gauze out.

 “You don’t have to, I’m fine.” I lie through gritted teeth, trying not to think about how she saw that happen right in front of her not long ago. I retract my hand from her grasp, but don’t manage to move it far.

“For fuck’s sake, Stiles.” She groans angrily, rolling her eyes at me. Her sudden outburst shocks me momentarily, giving her enough time to grab my wrist again quickly tightly to wrap it in gauze. “This is what I was talking about before. You don’t have to lie all the time; you’re allowed to be not okay sometimes. You’re only human.”

I stare at her silently, my mouth open slightly, and all I can hear is a niggling thought in my mind. _Am I?_

“You’re so blatantly not okay, Stiles. You have to let people in eventually, just let me help you.”

“Lydia, every time I let people in, they end up getting hurt.” I inform her quietly, finally breaking the eye contact to look down at my legs. She doesn’t respond for a couple of seconds, but she continues to delicately wrap my hand in gauze, bandaging the whole hand as if to cushion the pain. The silence is palpable, almost echoing in the silent house, the only sounds being our harshly conflicting intakes of breath. Well, it’s the only sounds that exist. I’ve been hearing different voices all day, from the consistent self deprecating comments from my conscious, to the less subtle whisperings from the dark corner of my head, a voice I’m not completely unconvinced is the Nogitsune still, telling me what it’ll do when it takes control of my body, who I’ll hurt, how I’ll hurt them… there’s never a quiet moment anymore.

“That’s not…” Lydia starts, before seeing my expression and sighing. “What about Scott?”

“Are you kidding?” I laugh bitterly, smacking my head back against the back of the chair, as if a part of me wanted to check if I could feel it. My hand jostles in the movement, causing a bolt of pain as I feel flesh tear. I look down, and see Lydia finishing off my makeshift bandage. I raise it to my eye level, and nod at the professional way it’s been tied. I try and swallow down any fears of the Nogitsune before continuing.  “This whole situation is- the entire reason he’s… I’m the reason he’s a werewolf to start with. If I hadn’t been so stubborn to drag him outside in the middle of the night, and I should’ve stayed with him…” I smile darkly, the memory bubbling back to the surface, looking for Laura Hale’s body. It seems like so long ago now. “If I hadn’t dragged him out there, he wouldn’t have been bitten, Jackson wouldn’t have become the Kanima, no Alpha Pack, no Nogitsune… everyone would still be alive.” I shrug, slowly and carefully getting to my feet, walking away from the big table. Lydia stays seated at the table, fingering her empty mug as I stumble over to the coffee table, with the gun Scott was wielding still laying on it. I pick it up, the cold metal fitting dangerously well in my hand, and I turn around, brandishing it. “And look at him now. He’s a mess! And it’s completely my fault! I genuinely don’t know why he doesn’t just up and leave me; I’ve brought him nothing but bad decisions and worse consequences for years, he’d be better off without me.”

Without uttering a word, Lydia gets to her feet and walks over to me and, without hesitation, she wraps her arms around me and hugs me tightly.

“You goddamned idiot.” She sighs into my chest and I chuckle lightly, awkwardly reciprocating her hug while still holding the 9mm pistol. “He needs you, just like you need him. That’s the reason he’s been acting weird recently, it’s not because you left, it’s because you were gone when he needed you.”

“Gee, thanks for making me feel better.” I smile sarcastically, though her words did hurt me a little. If what I saw earlier was what he’s been like all month, it’s no wonder he’d be weird around me.

“I’m serious. He doesn’t, and never will blame you. For being bitten, for the Nogitsune, for being gone.” She tells me as she peels herself away from my shaking form. “It’s in his nature; he’s physically incapable of disliking you. You’re all he’s talked about all month, different stories about what you two did years ago. It was pretty tiring by the end actually.” She jokes, as she returns to her seat as I remain standing, the gun still in my hand, now warm. “But seriously, without you, he’d be even worse. You’re his anchor now, did you know that? Losing you would send him spiralling all over again.” She pauses, as if contemplating saying something else. Before I can even add anything, she continues talking. “And anyway, if Scott _hadn’t_ been bitten that night, Peter would’ve just picked another person to be his beta. And they might not have had Scott’s ‘save everyone’ personality, you know? The Alpha Pack still would’ve come here, for Derek, and they would’ve died without Scott. The Darach would still have killed people, and would’ve killed your dad if you hadn’t intervened. I’m not saying this is all because of Scott being a werewolf, but your stubbornness to see a dead body definitely gave us an advantage. Plus this way, you and Scott got the pleasure of being friends with me.” She adds as an afterthought, trying to put a positive spin on my darkened mood.

I can’t help but smile at her confidence as I finally return to my seat opposite her, placing the gun gently on the table between us. “That’s true.” I concede, a genuine laugh erupting from my mouth, before a sad thought cuts across me again. “But, I mean, it’s because of me again that you got bitten.”

“What?” She asks, frowning slightly in confusion.

“Remember? The lacrosse field?” I remind her, getting sudden flashbacks to sprinting across the darkened field as Peter approached Lydia, and I was screaming… _It’s our fault, Stiles_. My fault, I correct myself nervously. It was my fault.

“Of course I remember, it’s just, how is that your fault?” She questions me, leaning forward on her chair, clearly never heard this story before.

“… Didn’t Jackson tell you?” I frown, unsure how she could’ve gone this long without knowing the origin of her bite. Then again, when Jackson got to her, she was already unconscious, and she never got a good look at me when I was running up to her. After she disappeared from the hospital, her problems just became small fry, with the Kanima on the loose. She never realised it was me that Peter wanted, I think nervously, and I nearly told her… oh god, how would she have reacted?

“Stiles, tell me what?” She demands, and I open my mouth to explain, before I hear footsteps coming down the stairs, coming fast. I glance at Lydia, who’s heard it too, and we both immediately drop our gazes to the loaded gun between the two of us with panicked expressions. Without thinking, I grab the pistol, and shove it down the back of my trousers, jumping as the cold metal touched my skin as the belt of my trousers keeps it in place. Lydia watches me with curious eyes, and I shrug at her when my dad finally comes into view, facing downwards, his eyes on his feet.

“Hey daddy-o.” I start nervously, mentally preparing myself for the family reunion to come.

 

What I didn’t mentally prepare for, however, was to see shock and incredulity in his eyes when he found me. I was expecting a warm welcome, like ‘oh hey, I saw you this morning and it’s great to see you again’, not fear induced silence.

“Stiles?” He finally stammers out, his voice horse. His feet faltered the second he saw me, and he looks so still in his sheriff’s uniform that I’m not even sure he’s breathing.

“The one and only.” I smile awkwardly at him. I stumble out of my chair and stand up straight just in time as he came crashing into me, hugging me tighter than he had in years. I’m momentarily surprised at the strength of the hug, but it quickly subsides as I wrap my arms around him and squeeze him back.

“Where have you been, kiddo?” He whispers into my ear, his emotions clearly running high. He finally pulls himself away from me, and looks me up and down. “Are you hurt? Is everything okay?” He questions me, his arms on my shoulders as he takes in the bandages around my hand.

“Everything’s fine, dad. I’m good.” I laugh, on the verge of tears for some reason. “Where’s Ms. McCall?” I add, not seeing her come down the stairs after him.

“She’s just getting changed now; do you want me to go get her for you?” He asks me, genuine concern flashing across his features.

“Nah it’s alright, it can wait.” I smile, before finally breaking away from the loving embrace to motion him to sit down. I take my place next to him, but he hesitates.

“How did you know Melissa was here?” He questions, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“I saw her this morning, remember?” I remind him, as he takes his seat next to me. Lydia’s sitting opposite, watching this exchange silently, with a broad smile on her face.

“You saw her, this morning?” He repeats slowly, as if feeling the weight of the words on his tongue.

“Yeah, I saw both of you. Don’t you remember?” I ask, slightly disheartened. “It was about 5am, I was soaking wet, you told me how I was gone for a month, and I had a panic attack on the porch?” I try and tell him, seeing if it rang any bells. It apparently did not.

“Stiles, are you feeling okay? I slept through the whole night, and I definitely would’ve remembered my son coming home after being missing a month. Which you still haven’t explained, by the way.” He adds in a fatherly tone, but it doesn’t downplay the air of confusion that now settled in the room. He presses the back of his hand against my forehead, probably checking if I had a fever or something. My dad and Lydia are looking at me weirdly, and I’m trying to remember if the early morning encounter even happened. Of course it did, how else would I have found out how long I was gone? How else would I have known Melissa was here?

“I was waiting for Melissa to come down, it would be easier than explaining it twice. And yes, I am fine, I just burnt my hand a little, totally unrelated to this past month.” I shrug, trying to avoid the scrutinizing glare from both parties at this table. “So how’s things been for you this past month?” I add calmly, trying to change the subject.

“How am _I_? You’ve been missing for 32 painstaking days, with no word, or any trace of you still being alive, and you ask how _I’ve_ been?” He responds. I guess obstinacy runs in the family.

“Dad-” I sigh, feeling both embarrassed and bad about putting him through this.

“Look, kiddo. Without you, I don’t have a life. You are my life. You’re the only record of the good things I’ve done in this world, so to answer your question, awful. Losing you really put my life into perspective, and I’ve realised I can’t do it again, not after everything that’s happened.” He replies, taking it down a notch, and making his voice sound much softer. There’s no jibes or sarcasm here, just raw emotion.

“Dad, you put away bad guys for a living, there are records literally everywhere of the good things you’ve done.” I laugh, wiping my nose at the otherwise touching moment.

“I’m the sheriff of a small town, where the crimes are either ‘unsolvable’ because of you and your friends, or they’re taken out of my hands. Sure, I’ve made my fair number of arrests, but it doesn’t even come close to what you’ve achieved, son.” He admits, his body language saying the compliments he doesn’t physically admit, and I love him for it.

I don’t have time to respond, and even if I did I don’t know what I would’ve said. I’m saved by the light taps of Scott’s mom coming down the stairs.

“Who are you talking to, John?” She yells from the stairs, a smile on her face that’s completely wiped away when she sees the situation unfolding ahead of her. “…Stiles?”

I smile at her broadly, but on the inside, I’m disappointed that this is clearly the first time she’s seeing me too. Did I completely imagine what happened this morning? But… how did I even get into the house to start with? How do I know all these things that I didn’t know before, and that no one’s told me since?

“John… what-?” She stammers, looking back from me to my dad wildly, her eyes wide.

“It’s him.” He informs her simply, with a little nod. I barely have enough time to stumble to my feet before I’m wrapped in another bone-crushing hug, pinning my arms to my side painfully.

“Are you okay?” She mumbles into my shoulder quietly, so that only I can hear.

“I’m doing good, how’re you?” I answer her, muttering into her hair, which causes her to laugh, a warm, enveloping laugh while tears filled her eyes.

 

After my (second?) reunion with the both of them, they sat down eagerly awaiting my story with bated breath.

“There’s really not much to tell.” I start, trying to ease their minds.

“What happened?” They sigh in unison, as if sensing my unwillingness to explain. They both changed their seats, with them now sitting opposite me, with Lydia by my side. They acknowledged her arrival with a glance that portrayed both confusion and knowing, which is odd because she told me she had plans to be here.

I can’t manage to find the words to start it, and I’m still unsure about what to say. What parts do I leave out? Do I leave anything out at all? Their questioning looks are making me unsure, and I start to feel my hands shaking violently in front of me. I remove my hands from the table to place them on the chair, gripping the sides with enough force to snap the varnished wood like a twig. I feel panic threatening to bubble up into my throat, making my mouth taste like bile. I open my mouth to start, but close it again, the awkward silence getting the best of me.

Then suddenly, that all fades away seemingly without cause, but I know better. I glance down at my hands, and see Lydia’s smaller hand on mind, her fingers intertwining with mine delicately, her thumb rubbing circles into my palm. Her palm is warm in mine, and I can feel my issues shrink at the contact. I look at her face, and she merely nods at me, a smile on her face. I nod back, before finally talking.

“I just want to tell you right now; I wasn’t kidnapped or abducted or anything like that, I’m completely safe.” I begin, watching as my dad’s face physically relax, as if that was his main concern to start with, but Melissa still looks slightly concerned, because it was undoubtedly her first guess that it was supernaturally related. “The day I disappeared, 32 days ago,” I continue, feeling Lydia squeeze my hand comfortingly. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath, and suddenly I feel Lydia’s palm slip from my grasp. I open my eyes quickly, to find everything black.

 

I turn my head frantically, but it’s pitch black everywhere. It’s not dark as if there’s an absence of light, it’s as if there’s an absence of… of _anything._ I can still feel the seat I’m sitting on, but it’s like I can’t picture what material it is, one second it’s hard like wood, then soft and spongy like a sofa, then cold like metal. I open my mouth to yell, but nothing comes out. I can’t seem to move anything either, my body seemingly completely unresponsive, floating in nothingness.

It only lasts for a couple of seconds, and all of a sudden, I feel like I’ve been dropped onto a chair, it’s material soft, but firm. My whole body jostles with the movement, and once I regain motor controls I whip my head side to side, wondering where the hell I am. The constant jumpy movement tells me I’m in a car, and I see Lydia driving, so it’s probably her car. How the fuck did I get here? Where’s my dad?

“What the _fuck_?” I shout angrily, making Lydia jump next to me, her hand turning the steering wheel in shock, the car swerving left and right on the empty road. I look down nervously, embarrassed that I’d scared her so much.

“Stiles! What is it?” She yells next to me, finally getting the car under control again. I glance out the windscreen in front of us, to see if I recognise where we are, but nothing springs to mind.

“Where the hell am I?” I mutter, looking at the clock in the car to see it’s almost half one. Wasn’t it like 11am seconds ago? “Shit, it happened again.” I groan, smacking my head against the dashboard. My hand tingles nervously with the action.

“What happened again? Are you alright?” Lydia questions my quickly, swerving the car to the side of the road to talk to me.

“Don’t. Don’t stop the car, just keep driving. I’m fine, it was just another time skip… thing.” I sigh, resignation clear in my voice. I don’t offer any more information, and I can feel Lydia tense up beside me, the car still unmoving.  

After a brief hesitation, she finally restarts the engine and continues driving. “What’s the last thing you remember?” She finally asks when we reach a red light.

“I literally _just_ started telling my dad and Scott’s mom the story of what happened, next thing I know, I’m in this car.” I grumble, finally lifting my head from the dashboard to face her.

“That was over two hours ago!” She gasps, aghast, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as she stares into my eyes, probably too see if they’re bloodshot or something.

“I know, I just saw the clock there.” I motion to the car clock sadly.

“Don’t you remember anything?” She questions, clearly concerned.

“Nothing.” I laugh, trying not to think of the implications that come from these lapses of time increasing in length. Forgetting making a cup of coffee is one thing; this is a whole other level. “How’d it… uhh, how did it go? What did I tell them?”

“The bare minimum.” She admits. “You did tell them how you think you died, but you were forced to, because your dad was wondering how you survived with no food or water for a month, and Melissa pointed out how your hair hasn’t grown at all, which was odd.”

“Smart.” I smirk, almost proud at how quick they were to ask questions. “What about after that?”

“You said nothing about being attacked, you just went straight to saying you saw Scott, me and then Derek.” She continues, listing the things off. Even though I have no recollection of it, these sound like the details I planned on giving. So, when I black out, is it actually me talking? Or does someone (something?) else take control?

“Didn’t I talk about seeing them this morning?” I wonder, confused why I’d leave out that detail, especially considering I thought it was true.

“You didn’t mention it. I thought you said you saw them first?” She tells me, and I nod vigorously.

“I thought I did! They were the ones who told me how long I was gone, and they told me about the mountain ash outside the house. How could I make that up if I didn’t even know about it?”

“Maybe… maybe Scott told you, and your brain just mixed up the times?” Lydia speculates, and I nod knowingly, thinking it through. If I really do have a concussion, then it’s possible to hallucinate things, and mix up words and conversations. But to fabricate a whole reunion? It seems a little far-fetched, but on the same hand so does dying twice in one day. _The day’s not over yet_ , I think grimly to myself. I could make it to three.

“Did anything else happen after that?” I sigh exasperatedly, not wanting to talk about my failing mental capacities.

“Not much, really. You made small talk, about what happened last month, how Scott’s been and whatever. Melissa took a look at your hand, and said that it’ll heal fine if you don’t aggravate it too much.” She lists casually, swerving around traffic.

“What did I tell them about my hand? About how it got burnt, I mean.” I question her, doubting I said anything about the mountain ash and the horrific incident there.

“Oh, I said you burnt it making me some coffee.” She adds nonchalantly, a small smile on her face.

“Thank you for that. I didn’t mean to rope you into my problems.” I shrug, knowing how adamant she was against me lying.

“Stiles, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart; shut the hell up. For the last time, your problems are my problems, it’s really no issue to help you.” She smiles, and I can see that the look in her eyes tells me she means it. I grin at her words, however.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. How’d we leave then? I mean their son just came home after a month, and they leave after two hours?” I ask, with no malice or disappointment in my voice, only curiosity. I’m obviously not _happy_ to leave my dad, but it’s nice that they’d trust me enough to let me go out again.

“’ _Their son_ ’?” Lydia repeats, laughing when I realise my mistake. I’ve been around Scott’s mom so often; I’ve started seeing her as a motherly figure. Not that she’s replaced my mom, but just like a secondary mother. I can feel she feels the same about me.

“You know what I meant.” I sigh loudly, my smile as broad as Lydia’s, trying to gloss over my mistake.

“There was a pile up over in town. Apparently someone ran a red light and drove straight into a truck.” She tells me grimly, turning the corner on the road.

“Jesus, are they alright?” I grit my teeth as I suck in air through my teeth.

“The driver’s alright, that’s why your dad’s going. But apparently the other cars didn’t get the hint that he crashed, and kept driving, right into the mess. That’s why Melissa’s going. They drove up together.”

“Where are we going?” I ask nervously, knowing how injured it makes me sounds, not being able to remember anything from the last few hours. I’ve been trying to think back, if I can remember anything, anything at all; but it’s not even as if it’s a foggy memory, it just doesn’t exist.

“To go see Kira and Scott.” Lydia answers simply, as if helping a child remember something, but not in a patronising way.

“On their date? Is that a good idea?” I cringe, not wanting to awkwardly third wheel.

“It was _your_ idea.” She sighs.

“Then it’s probably a terrible idea.” I joke, but get no response.

“Are we gonna talk about this?” Lydia finally interrogates, after a brief respite, breaking the car at the next red light and turning towards me.

“Talk about what?” I respond innocently, looking at my lap and haphazardly picking at the bandages around my hand. I have an inkling about what she meant, but I’m unsure if I want to go down that road, for the time being, anyway.

“About missing all that time for seemingly no reason, about what happened to you this month, about Scott, about… anything!” She yells, throwing up her arms in defeat.

“But… I thought it was just a concussion?” I debate, knowing full well that neither of us believes it.

“Do you really think that it’s a coincidence? That it’s completely unrelated to your incident? Or to the Nemeton?” She asks sceptically, eying me up and down.

“Of course I don’t, I’m not an idiot.” I snap at her, flinching at the mention of the Nemeton, before continuing, my voice considerably softer. “I was just being hopeful that there would be some kind of ‘cure all’ solution to the problem, or maybe I’d imagined this whole thing. I don’t know, just… just _anything_!”

“You should know by now that nothing’s ever as simple as that in this town.” Lydia points out, and we both fall silent again. The light turns green, and Lydia continues driving forward, the only audible sound being the engine and the other cars passing by.

“It was different to the other times.” I whisper, just loud enough to be heard.

“What was different?”

“The black-out. With the first ones, I just blinked and like 5 minutes was gone, without me realising. But that last time, just then, it was like I knew it was happening. Everything just went black for a couple of seconds, and I couldn’t move, or scream, or see-” I shudder, remembering the paralyzing fear that came with it. “Then all of a sudden, I felt like I was just… dropped onto this seat, two and a half hours later.” I confess, turning to look out the window, while still absentmindedly picking at the bandages around my hand.

“Then it’s definitely not to do with your concussion.” She notes, thinking out loud. “Or at least that one wasn’t. It must be some kind of effect from the Nemeton, or something.”

“That’s the problem with being the first person to discover an issue; no one has any idea how to resolve it.” I smile cynically to myself, turning back in time to see Lydia open her mouth to argue. “That isn’t meant as a complaint or anything, I’m genuinely grateful for all the help you’ve been able to give so far, it’s just, do you have any long term solutions with how to deal with the Nemeton?” _Or any long term ways to deal with me?_

Lydia shakes her head stiffly, biting her tongue to stop herself from saying something else. “We’re gonna find a way, Stiles.” She says finally, glancing over towards me. “No matter what it takes.”

“I know you will.” I sigh, mostly telling myself. It’s because I really believe they will, or at least they’ll try. It’s not even just Scott’s mentality to always help the innocent, but also Lydia’s determinedness to figure out the problems, to solve the puzzle. If I’m dying, at least I’m dying in good hands.

 

We arrive at a local diner minutes later, nothing much left to discuss, as we travelled in content silence. She parked her car half a block away from the diner, making us walk the rest of the way, which should only take about a minute. Walking down the street didn’t hurt as much as I’d expected it to, considering I don’t even remember bandaging my leg. There’s still a slight limp, but it’s almost unnoticeable to the naked eye, I’m hoping, at least.

We reach about halfway when a thought occurs to me, very briefly.

“Lydia, I thought you said you needed to see Scott’s mom or something. Isn’t that the whole reason you came with me?” I wonder, noticing Lydia didn’t mention it when she relayed what had happened.

“Oh, that.” She smiles, falling in line with me as we wander over. “I lied. You just looked like you didn’t want to be alone, and I didn’t feel comfortable leaving you. You know, with the condition you were in.” She adds quickly, and I smile.

“Yeah, sure, sure.” I smirk, matching her speed. “Well, thank you. You can be pretty good company sometimes.”

“’Sometimes’?” She repeats, in mock outrage.

“Yeah, sometimes.” I smile innocently, continuing to walk forward, as the diner looms ahead.

 

We reach the café about a minute later, and before we even enter, I can see them through the large window, with Kira’s head on Scott’s shoulder, her completely out of it, but Scott talking to her anyway. It’s such a sickly sweet sight that I almost vomit.

Lydia reaches the door first, pushing it open to hear a jingling of bells from above. Scott and Kira both flick their eyes towards the door, Kira raising her head when she sees us walking through the door. In fact, everyone in the place turns their attention towards us, some for a second, but one or two openly staring at us, probably recognising me as the ‘kid who went missing’ or the ‘guy who went on a killing spree in the hospital’. Hopefully the former.

“Stiles! Lydia!” Scott yells, motioning us over to their table as if we hadn’t already seen him the second we came in. I humour him anyway, plastering a huge smile on my face when I see him.

“How’ve you been?” I ask them both when we reach their little booth, making polite conversation to try and dissipate the awkward environment. I automatically pull out a chair for Lydia before seating myself, and I didn’t even realise I did it until Scott pointedly stares at the action. Scott it’s the only one staring, either. I can’t really place why, but Kira keeps side-eying me with stares that make me shudder, with pitiful eyes and a hesitating mouth. I smile at her, in a way I hope portrays warmth, and she matches the action with a grin that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It’s not like she’s sad to see me, it seems more… anxious. I can’t imagine why, though, but it seems odd for someone other than me to be excessively nervous for no apparent reason.

I sit down opposite her, as silence fills the air and the awkwardness stagnates. I clear my throat loudly, and the sudden noise seemingly kick-starts their brains into realising that I had just asked something.

“Oh, we’re fine. Great. Good.” Scott rambles as Kira nods in agreement.

“What about you?” Kira coughs, after taking a long sip of her coffee, which is still steaming.

“Well, you know. It’s been a busy month.” I shrug, watching her curiously as she looks ready to ask something. Maybe she just wants to ask where I’ve been, but doesn’t want to sound too blunt? Or she’s worried I’ve been holding a grudge against her and her family for causing me to be possessed by the Nogitsune? Not that I do, at all. There’s no way Kira could’ve avoided electrocuting me without dying in the process, with Barrow hot on her heels. Also, if I hadn’t sacrificed myself to the Nemeton to start with, then the Nogitsune wouldn’t have entered my head at all. Or, she’s worried about the long term effect on my disappearance and the mental toll it’s gonna have on me and my friends from which we might not recover? I’m probably over-thinking this. “Well, I mean it wasn’t a busy month for me.”

Kira continues staring at me, as if she doesn’t get my point, so I continue. “Y’know, on the count that I’ve been dead?” I finish lamely, leaning back in my chair casually.

All in the space of a second, I see Kira’s eyes widen as she gasps in shock, as Scott shakes his head furiously at me, then rolls his eyes.

“Ohhhh shit, you didn’t tell her?” I groan in realisation, as Kira continues to look sad and confused.

“I thought you’d be able to explain it better!” Scott hisses through gritted teeth, with no malice.

“When have I _ever_ been able to explain anything better?” I laugh, and despite everything I still see him smile and shrug in agreement.

“You… died?” Kira states, not exactly a question, merely a way to expand my brief explanation. I flinch at her tone of voice as I try to backtrack.

“That probably wasn’t the best way to start this story, but sure. I died for a month without realising, but I’m completely fine now!” I argue, trying to ignore the way Lydia visibly tenses at my side.

“But… how? I mean, how are you fine now? Why did you just come back from the dead?” Kira interrogates, bombarding me with questions I can’t answer without revealing to Scott that I was lying. I take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for what was to unfold after my confession. I open my mouth to answer, but I’m cut off by Scott’s phone ringing.

 

He picks up from out his pocket, and frowns when he reads the name on the caller ID. I hope that that means he isn’t going to answer it, so that I can get back to my dramatic re-re-retelling of the traumatic experience, but he stands up and begins to walk away from the table.

“I’ll just be a second, just carry on talking.” He tells us as a group as he wanders around Kira.

“Actually, you kinda need to hear this, too.” I cringe, watching Scott falter and whirl around to look at me.

“Really?” He asks, both surprised but exasperated as he glances at his phone again. I realise that it’s probably an important call if he had to leave the place to answer it, and I don’t want to deprive him of that.

“It can wait, don’t worry. It can wait.” I backtrack loudly as Scott’s ringtone finishes, only for it to start again. The constant ringing has caught the attention of some of the customers, but most seem unfazed by it, not the same audience from when I first arrived, but definitely more than the average witnesses to a mild disturbance.

“Are you sure? This can wait.” Scott hesitates, looking at the door before turning towards me, as if trying to sense if anything’s wrong. If Derek’s right, and I don’t have a scent, then it shouldn’t be a problem. But it’s still unnerving, and it still feels like I’m lying to him, even without talking.

“Nah, go. We’re not going anywhere, right?” I laugh forcefully as I turn to Lydia and Kira, as if pretending the comment was directed at them in any way, and not me trying to convince him that I’m actually here and not about to disappear again.

I can see on his face that Scott could tell that that laugh was forced, but he seems at least a little bit satisfied by my comment, as he decidedly turns toward the door. I see him about to answer the still ringing phone when a thought comes to me. I intend on asking him when he comes out, but before I can even stop myself it comes blurting out of my mouth.

“Hey is that Isaac?” I ask when he turns away, the memory of his message only now resurfacing. I knew something must’ve happened between the two of them before, but I can see the way Scott tenses up after I mention his name. He’s not the only one, either. Even though they’re both behind me, I can feel the air chill and they too become tense at the mention of his name. _What happened this month?_

“Wh- Why would it be him?” Scott stammers, looking directly in my eyes with some sort of fierceness that makes me want to avoid his gaze. The phone, held tightly in his clenched fist, still rings loudly as it threatens to crack in his firm grip.

“It’s just, I saw him earlier and he kinda looked like he needed to talk to you.” I start, taken aback by his reaction. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t… this. I turn to Lydia, as if seeking back-up for the situation, but she looks at me with fear tinged sadness in her eyes. Thoroughly confused by everyone’s actions, I start to feel nervous, and of course I continue talking. “He told me to tell you hey, and that you’d ‘know what that means’? He was actually pretty adamant that I be the one who told you, but I don’t know why he just doesn’t himself. I mean, it’s one word? Couldn’t it have waited? Like, text much?” I ramble, my mouth shooting out words that don’t even register in my head. In fact, nothing’s registering in my head. I can’t understand their looks, Scott’s reaction, or anything, and the only thought in my head is me repeatedly screaming “stop talking stop talking stop talking” because if their reactions have told me anything, it’s that Isaac is a pretty touchy subject.

Scott opens his mouth, as if to say something, red seeping into his eyes for a second before fading back, but then he takes a look at his phone, which is miraculously still ringing, and wordlessly storms out the door. He’s standing outside the window, so although I can see him, I can’t hear him at all. He glances inside a couple of times, primarily at me, before finally accepting the call.

“What was _that_ about?” I whistle, trying to make it less awkward when I find Kira and Lydia still watching me suspiciously. I try and put out the image of Scott’s alpha eyes in my head, and the feeling of fear I got when I saw his control slip slightly, like a small reminder of how dangerous he can be. “Did something happen between the two of them when I was gone?”

Kira squirms uncomfortably at the question, so I turn instead to Lydia, who has the same look in her eyes, but talks anyway.

“Did you say you saw Isaac?” She questions slowly, as if she hopes she heard me wrong.

“A couple of hours ago, yeah. Didn’t you?” I inform her, feeling slightly anxious. I assumed that he left or something, and if he did then Lydia would’ve definitely seen him leaving. He just vanished, but I guess he could’ve gone to a different room? But even thinking that is a stretch. Why would he have been there to start with?

“Are you _sure_ that it was today? I mean, could you have mixed up the days or something?” Kira blurts out, putting so much emphasis on the ‘sure’ that I actually start to doubt myself. I did see him, right?

“No, it was definitely today, in my house. Why is that so unbelievable?” I answer uncertainly. I mean, Scott _did_ say he was in France, and today hasn’t been the best day for me in the mental health department. It seemed pretty real at the time, but so did my encounter with my dad and Melissa this morning, so it’s possible that I imagined the whole thing. But why would I think of Isaac? I mean, nothing against the guy, but he was really the last person on my mind at the moment, and the way he was talking seemed very realistic.

“That’s not- He’s-” Kira stammers, before turning to Lydia to help. I look between the two of them, trying to decipher the silent conversation that’s going on, but I only end up more worried and angry.

“ _What_?” I sigh through gritted teeth, masking my confusion with anger, trying to not let them realise how worried I am. I place my hands on the diner’s table to turn myself around, but the pressure on my palm seeps through the bandage and I wince in pain, completely unmasking my emotions.

“Stiles, Isaac’s dead.” Lydia finally answers softly, and then everything goes quiet.

 

I almost laugh at the idiocy of that remark, while I look between the two of them manically, to try and see if they’re joking, but neither of them are smiling. _Dead_? How is that possible? A hundred different questions erupt in my mind, but my mouth can’t form the words. Isaac’s… dead? The person who I’d seen almost every day for over a year, the person who lost their whole family, gone? I swallow nervously as a horrible realisation runs through me; I don’t feel sad, I don’t feel… guilty. It’s like I know how I should feel, and my brain is supplying the right thoughts, but I don’t really feel what I’m thinking. It’s as if there’s a blanket over all my emotions, letting apathy take reign. Is this because I’m in shock? Or some worse effect from the Nogitsune, leaving me completely emotionally numb?

“When? How?” I finally gasp, the words finally tumbling out, finally understanding Scott’s discomfort when talking about him, and I kept bringing it up, like the insensitive idiot that I am.

“It was just over two weeks after you went missing. We still don’t know who did it.” Lydia answers me quietly, no longer meeting my gaze.

“’Who’?” I reiterate, putting my head in my hands as no one acknowledges my question. I suddenly feel sick, and almost on the verge of tears. Did this have something to do with me? What if the reason no one could find me, even though I was in the preserve the whole time, was because I _wasn’t_ in the preserve the whole time? The Nogitsune can’t die, but what happens when the host dies? Does it give the Nogitsune complete control over the body? Has this all been another game, an elaborate ruse to trick me, just like the hundred times before? Am I even control of my actions now?

“Stiles, I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t you.” Lydia insists, but it does nothing to ease my nerves. I know the chances are slim, deep down, and especially after my encounter with that _thing_ this morning, yet my brain seems to be split down the middle. I don’t know what happened this month, and neither does she, it could’ve been me. It could’ve been me.

“How could you possibly know that?” I snap, sounding harsher than I’d anticipated. I keep my head in my hands, refusing to look up. My elbows dig painfully into the cold, hard table as I push my head deeper into my hands, unconsciously trying to hide my face. “All you know is that someone is dead- our _friend_ is dead!” The reality of the situation hits me like a bullet piercing my chest. “Our friend is dead.” I repeat softly, voice full of emotion. I’m never going to see Isaac ever again. Just like Allison. Just like mom. It happened all over again, someone is dead. And I wasn’t even there to help my friends. I can’t even help myself.

I feel a warm hand on my back, comforting me by rubbing circles delicately, but I can’t help think how selfish I’m being in all this. They all have had to deal with this, and deal with my disappearance for a whole month, and I deal with half that for ten seconds and already I’m having an existential crisis. I feel a burning in my chest, which is either guilt or pain from sitting in an awkward position for this long, and either way I want it to stop. I finally look up, lean back against my chair, but the pain doesn’t go away.

I’m vaguely aware of tears in my eyes when I turn towards Lydia with an expression sterner than I feel. Lydia seems to be watching me, gauging my reaction, and her face shows how unsure she is at how I’ll react. As much as I know her worry is justified, now that I know the cause of Scott’s powers being messed up, it still hurts to be looked at like that, like I’m gonna just freak out and leave or something. When I look away finally, my eyes land on Kira, who’s also looking at me, but her look seems different somehow. Where Lydia looks nervous, Kira just looks like she wants to say something, but is too scared. When she sees me watching her staring at me, her gaze flickers around the place, but it keeps returning to me unsubtly. I finally look away from Kira’s worried glances when I think back to my earlier encounter.

“So who was I talking to earlier?” I wonder after a full minute of silence, not giving too much thought to my possible psychosis, and hoping that there’s another explanation that doesn’t include magic trees or evil fox spirits, considering I’ve had enough of them for a lifetime or two.

“You could’ve hallucinated it?” Lydia offers carefully, eyeing Kira nervously as she dances around talking about my condition with her right there. She perks up at the odd suggestion with a look of worry, probably wondering why I’m hallucinating things, or if I’m going crazy all over again. I feel bad for Kira, because she must be feeling so out of the loop with everything that’s going on, and she probably deserves an explanation, any explanation. I should tell her that I don’t blame her about the Nogitsune, because it doesn’t seem like she knows with the way she keeps side-eying me. I need to tell her that nothing that happened this year has been her fault, and that she’s become an important member of the pack. Not that she really needs to hear that last part, especially with Scott ‘I-see-the-good-in-everyone-’ McCall hanging around her. I just understand what guilt feels like, and I know that hearing that would help.

“Lydia, that’s been your excuse for everything.” I frown, her response irritating me slightly as she repeats it all through the day. “I mean, sure, you’re probably right. Seeing dead people doesn’t exactly scream ‘good mental health’, but still even you have to admit that this is getting a bit much for a concussion, right?” I joke, ignoring the way I can feel my face twitch when I say ‘dead’. I let my mind drift to Scott, unable to even comprehend how he must be feeling. I wasn’t even close to the guy and I feel terrible, Scott must be devastated. After Allison, after me, it could’ve been his breaking point. I look behind my shoulder, ignoring the burning pain from my unimportant wounds to watch him through the window. I don’t know who he’s talking to on the phone, but he doesn’t look happy, with his shoulders raised and jaw clenching. Come to think of it, I’ve barely seen Scott smile all day. I remember him, before this- before any of this, as this happy, empathetic, puppy-eyes kid who I’d play video games with until the morning, worried about asking out girls and school tests, but still the person whose smile genuinely brightened my day. Now he looks like that boy is long gone, and I’m scared that I won’t get him back.

It’s not until I bring my attention back to what’s happening inside the café that I realise what I’d said, about having a concussion. I look at my shaking hands when I also realise that Kira heard that and didn’t make a single remark. Kira, who doesn’t, or _shouldn’t_ think I’m at all injured, yet didn’t bat an eyelid at mentions of me having hallucinations and concussions.

“Hey, Kira-” I start, looking up just as she interrupts me.

“Stiles, I know what happened to you.” Kira rushes, silencing me completely and filling me with fright. Does she mean this morning? This month? Because I don’t even know what happened this month, but if _Kira_ does, then there’s clearly something to say, something that I did. Did it have to do with Isaac? Did I…?

“This morning I mean. Okay, well I don’t _know_ what happened to you, I saw you.” She continues, on the same speed making all her words jumbled as she tries to compose herself. Her clarification answers one of my questions, yet the answer seems to make me more unsettled. A part of me doesn’t really have an issue with her seeing me, considering I would’ve just told her anyway, and it’s pretty emotionally and physically draining explaining the whole thing over and over again. Logically, it works out well for me that she does know. But that doesn’t explain the deep-seated panic rustling my bones as I shuffle awkwardly in my chair. Where could she have seen me? _How_ could she have seen me? And without knowing how much she saw, I’ll have to be completely brutally honest when Scott comes back, in case she catches me in a lie. I was hoping to downplay the amount of injuries I sustained, because Scott would only worry and take things into his own hands, and I can’t- I can’t let him do that. He can’t die because of me. I can’t let anyone else die because of me.

“Kira, what?” Lydia sighs, trying to calm the other girl after she started babbling incoherently. Kira takes a deep breath, either to compose herself, or to start another onslaught of words. During the second of silence, I hear a sound coming from behind me. It’s probably just the door opening, so I just ignore it to try and steady my breathing.

“I couldn’t sleep last night, so I thought I’d go for a walk, you know, to clear my head.” She explains slowly, yet with the same tone of urgency in her voice. “It was probably around half two in the morning when I got a text from an unknown number. It was saying that it was Scott, and that he’d lost his phone, and he needed me to go to the preserve immediately, and that was it. At the time, I didn’t think that it was weird, because he spent most of nights down there. But when I got there, I heard a shout from in the forest, and-”

“Kira.” Lydia warns, cutting across her rudely, but neither of us pays attention to her. Was that me shouting?

“-I turned around to look for who made the noise, and I saw this person running out of the darkness, and I was about 10 yards away and I could hear panting. I thought I should go and ask if they were okay, but then I- then I saw the blood.”

“ _Kira!_ ” Lydia hisses again, and again failing to stop the young kitsune. A part of me wonders why she’s so desperate to stop her from talking, but I’m too engrossed by Kira’s story, because now it’s undoubtedly about me. I feel my eyes widen in recognition and Kira’s frantically worried eyes bore into mine.

“I didn’t have to get any closer to see it, it was so obviously leaking out of this person’s leg and chest and head, and I wanted to go to help, I really did Stiles, but I just couldn’t move… there was so much blood, Stiles-” Kira shudders, and I finger the bandages around my hand nervously. I even feel Lydia shuffle uncomfortable next to me, probably horrified at this retelling, horrified that it actually happened. Well, at least I know it did actually happen now.

“How did you know it was me?” I almost whisper, my voice losing all bravado. I hear Lydia hiss my name urgently, but I can barely hear anything except my own heartbeat, which is speeding up frantically.

“Well they- you- you jumped over this waist-high fence, into some kid’s park, and I just heard something snap and you went down, and crawled over to this bench. I froze in place, watching you just flail around painfully, but then after you fell I just started moving forward, which was when I got a good look. A part of me registered straight away it was you, but then you turned around, and I just knew, and- and I’m really sorry, Stiles, I ran. I just ran.” She stammers apologetically, looking down, and shaking visibly.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” I tell her, hoping my voice sounds soothing and not panicked. “It’s not like you could’ve done anything, anyway. If I was in the same situation, I probably would’ve left too, especially considering the recent circumstances. Plus, you had Scott to worry about.” I add, remembering how precarious this conversation is, with Scott just outside.

“But I didn’t!” She yells, still looking down, unable to look me in the eyes. “The number from the text was blocked, and Scott had texted me a couple of times since that, on his own phone, and he didn’t mention the other texts at all.” She prattles on, although she does seem slightly relieved at my reaction and calmness.

“Wait, it wasn’t Scott who texted you to go to the preserve?” I realise, brows furrowing. I see Lydia shake her head next to me, but my mind is whirring at the possibilities. Why did someone want to make Kira go to the preserve last night? Does that mean that someone else was there too, at the same time Scott and I were?

“Stiles, that’s not at all the point!” Kira sighs angrily, looking back up again and finding my gaze.  Her eyes only show guilt now. “You were hurt, and I ran! You could’ve died! You-” She cries, before her eyes flicker to behind me, stopping her mid-sentence. “Oh god.” She whispers, sinking in her seat to try and hide.

I want to question her actions, but then I realise what’s happened. Lydia’s attempts to quieten us, Kira’s sudden silence, the door opening and closing behind me… Scott. It’s a classic ‘he’s right behind me, isn’t he?’, although it’s much funnier as a TV trope than in real life.

 

I glance over at Lydia, who’s watching me almost apologetically, before taking a deep breath and standing up out of my chair, ignoring the pins and needles in one of my feet, and the sharp pain in the other. I turn around quickly, and my suspicions are proved right when I see Scott, phone still in hand, standing a few feet away from me, an incredibly hurt look etched on his face.

“Stiles?” He finally whispers, his voice showing both concern, and disappointment, betrayal. It really hurts to know it’s directed at me. He doesn’t move forward, and neither do I, and for now, it doesn’t seem to be grabbing the attention of anyone except for Lydia and Kira.

“Scott, look, I don’t know how much you-” I start, feeling my heart begin to race as my face begins feeling scalding hot, either due to nervousness or anxiety, I don’t know.

“Everything.” He responds simply, cutting across me, making any other excuse in my head completely redundant. His eyes only leave mine once, to trail across my body, and lingers on my hand, the only bandaged body part out in the open. He looks as if he has hundreds of questions, each worse and more invading than the last, but at the moment, he seems at a loss for words, which is unnerving. What’s more unnerving is that I’m at a loss for words too.

With lightning fast reflexes, he reaches forward and grabs my wrist, the uninjured one, but only for a second before the black lines litter his arm, making me feel lighter, making my head feel clearer. I didn’t realise how much pain I was in, because I had all day to deal with it, but this has really opened my eyes. Scott then removes his hand, and everything comes crashing back down again, and as my heart continues its fast beating, I start to feel the floor move under me, and Scott sways ever so slightly in front of me. A panic attack then, I tell myself, although my brain seems unresponsive.

He doesn’t even need to say anything, as we both know he knows how much pain I’m actually in, just with that little touch. He stands there awkwardly, looking at his hand as the tendrils recede back into his normal tanned skin. I have to look away when his gaze returns to me, showing the same amount of concern and disappointment that was clear in his voice, while staying completely silent. That’s when I spot it, over on the glass by the door.

I don’t know how I didn’t see it when I came in, but I can see it clearly now. It’s a piece of paper, taped up onto the window, with the bold print on the top showing the letters ‘MISSING’ , with a picture of me, smiling under it. That’s what pushes me over the edge.

 

I try taking a deep breath, but end up coughing half of it out, leaving me unable to suck in enough air. I keep seeing Scott’s betrayed look loom in front of my face, and I instinctively take a step back when he takes one forward.

I distinctively hear myself mutter out apologies, and tell him that I have to leave, even though I don’t remember opening my mouth. Scott grabs my arm lightly, but I shrug out of his grip when I feel the tremendous urge to leave. I hear Scott call my name behind me, his voice pleading, but I keep stumbling forward, trying not to stumble or fall or stop breathing. I reach the door, and after a second of consideration, I stretch over and rip the flier from the window, surprisingly not tearing the page in the process. I shove the door with my shoulder quickly, and walk out, almost getting blinded by the sun. I don’t even pause to pick a direction; I instinctively turn to the right and walk, with no idea where to go, and no desire to turn back.

The ground still turns beneath me, but I manage to walk in a straight line as I try, and fail, to control my breathing.

“Stiles!” I hear someone yell behind me, probably Lydia. I ignore her and continue walking forward, trying to clear my mind of the look on Scott’s face, of that missing person poster still clutched in my hand, of Isaac.

“Stiles!” The voice comes again, louder this time. I turn around to shout a little bit, and just before my eyes settle on the person behind me, it registers in my mind that it isn’t Lydia’s voice, or Scott’s, or Kira’s. It’s-

“Allison?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alrighty here we go, the next installment. thank you for everyone who reads this, you all are amazing people alright.
> 
> anywho, i just wanted to say quickly that i'm about to go on a two week long road trip, and i doubt i'll have that much time to write, but i'll fit in as much as i can. my point is, if i dont update in a while, dont think i have stopped writing, i'm just currently hundreds of miles away from my laptop and h a t i n g it.
> 
> i don't want to bore you anymore than i already have, so thanks everyone who reads this, and please feel free to leave kudos or comments, thanks!!

Allison Argent stands a few feet away from me, looking very not dead. She looks surprised, to say the least, when I turn to her, fully prepared for a debate of some kind. I realise there’s still probably some sort of scowl still on my face, but it quickly vanishes as my jaw drops in shock, probably mirroring her look as I feel the wind get punched out of me.

She doesn’t look at all different, but it hurts to look at her for obvious reasons. She’s wearing the same thing she wore when she… when she died, without the obvious stab wound from the Oni’s blade because of me. She’s looking at me from where she’s standing, taking slow steps forward, as if not to spook me. It doesn’t work however, as I stumble backwards.

“Stiles, listen-” Allison starts, urgency obvious in her voice as she doesn’t even offer an explanation as to how she’s even standing here.

I feel myself sweat and breathe erratically still as I glance off to the left, and I can see that I never even left the vicinity of the diner. I stopped walking and turned around probably after taking three steps away, and I can see through the window to Scott, Lydia and Kira easily. That means they can see me, too. Can they see her with me, or is this just me going crazy again? Lydia seems to be watching me curiously as I seem to talk to thin air, probably gawking after the confrontation with Scott mere seconds ago. Kira seems to be talking heatedly with Scott, maybe trying to explain herself for not telling Scott about the mystery text message, or about me. Scott has his back turned to me, as he faces Kira, in the exact same spot I left him, but I can see his ears twitch slightly as he angles his body to the side, and I know he’s trying to find my heartbeat, probably listening to me, too.

I take another step back from Allison- no, this can’t be Allison, she’s gone.  She can’t be Allison.

“Oh my god, I _am_ going crazy.” I gasp, taking yet another painful step back. I don’t need to glance back into the diner to see that Scott’s turned around to watch me talk to myself, or that Lydia’s probably telling him to go after me. I see Allison start shaking her head in front of me, as she raises her hands in a form of surrender, but also trying to calm me down as I start to enter a full blown panic attack.

It’s almost as if time slows for a second. Not-Allison opens her mouth to talk, but no sound comes out, or at least I can’t hear anything, and at the same time I see Scott open the diner door in slow-motion, as he tries to find me, completely oblivious to the fact that his dead ex-girlfriend is standing _right there_. I see the situation unfold in front of me, my brain going numb with overuse at the completely wrong time. What do I do? I can’t see Scott right now without seeing the hurt behind his eyes, and I obviously can’t stay here and talk to myself, enabling the hallucination in front of me. Unable to think of a better idea, my mind tells me to do the only thing I can do.

I run.

I turn around on the spot, time returning to normal as I push myself forward and throw caution to the wind as I run through the pain. I ignore the calls from Scott, I ignore the yells from Allison, and I ignore the part of my brain telling me that I should not be running in my condition. I ignore the curious glances from the pedestrians, probably wondering why there’s this deranged teenager sprinting down the street with tears in his eyes. I almost run into a lamppost, and then into a woman with a dog, but I dodge them with surprising grace as I speed ahead, not even pausing to glance behind me.

I know it seems pretty stupid, running away from a figment of my own imagination that will just reappear wherever I stop probably, and also a werewolf, that can run faster and for longer than me, but I know I hold a slight advantage; the fact that I don’t know where I’m going. I have no plan on where to go, no inkling of what direction to travel, and I just turn at any random corner, or go straight ahead. If I don’t know where I’m going, Scott can’t get there ahead of me, which solves at least one of my problems.

 

I never would’ve said that I was a good runner, not particularly fast, low endurance, bad form, but fear can do surprising things to a man. Like women who lift cars to save their babies, here I am, the unfit teen sprinting away from his problems. After a minute of constant running and turning, I’m still able to run more, surprisingly in control of my breathing. My leg still hums painfully whenever I land on it, but as my mind clears, it doesn’t seem to bother me as much. I can’t even feel my chest, which should ring out to me as being a problem, but my mind is still wiped clean in paralysing fear.

After I clear the area of where the others are, my turns become less frequent, less erratic, more controlled, as if my mind subconsciously figured out where I was and started directing me to go somewhere. It’s odd, though, because I _don’t_ know where I am. There seems to be a voice telling me ’turn here, go straight, turn left, keep going’, and even though my internal GPS is starting to worry me, I keep following the directions nonetheless.

There seems to be less foot traffic on the sidewalk when I sprint down them, although I still feel like I’m being watched, which isn’t odd. If I saw a deathly looking unknown person sprinting down a pavement for an unknown reason, I’d be a little concerned and stare, too.

As I calm down from my panic attack, I start to wonder why I’m even running at all. I know that I was gonna talk to Scott about this whole thing anyway, and sure, he looked a little hurt, but I completely expected that. I guess my systems went into overload when he found out from someone other than me, and that caused me to think he’d be angry at me or something. Then there’s this thing with Allison, or whatever that was. I’m obviously not in the best state of mind at the moment, but my hallucinations have tended to be of some importance, even if I didn’t realise it at the time. I imagined talking with my dad, which lead me to find out about the month passing and the mountain ash around my house, I imagined seeing Isaac, which helped me find out what had happened to him, so if Allison’s here, it’s gotta be my head telling me something. I don’t know why it just doesn’t come out and say it, but here we are. Then there was that flier. I look down, and see it still gripped tightly in my hand, as I turn the corner here, and swerve around a man on his phone, narrowly missing him. When I saw that flier, that’s when I started freaking out. It was the thought of my face being on the door to a diner that I’d never even heard of, people there who I’d probably never seen before looking at it and wondering what had happened to me. The whole idea shows the impact of my disappearance, and it made me sick to think of all the damage I’d caused.

Even after my epiphany of sorts, I continue to follow where my head leads me, albeit at a slightly calmer pace. Sure, I’m still running, but it’s less ‘100m sprint’ and more ‘5000m relay’. I start to calm down after my panic attack, and that’s when everything starts to sink in. My leg, which was throbbing slightly when I was full of adrenaline, is now aching painfully with every slight movement jarring my whole body. My chest is heaving with every breath, but I can feel the tightness from the gauze restricting my chest from expanding too much, which both restricts my breathing and feels like a punch to my wound whenever my foot hits the ground. My head, which was fine, now starts to distort my surroundings, making the parked cars seem to move forwards and backwards and the ground starts to shake beneath my feet. I consider stopping, but my mind wills me forward, telling me where to go. I start getting worried by my inability to stop, as I get reminded of when I couldn’t control my movements earlier, which lead to me getting killed for a month, and I’m not too keen for that to happen again.

I start struggling slightly, although I’m not too concerned because it’s not like I’m near any supernatural tree that needs reviving, or some crazed animal that needs a new scratching post. I find that my feeble attempts have no effect, which registers as a problem in my mind, but I’m still sort of curious as to where this is taking me, so I let it happen. The only downside to this is the horrible, horrible pain that comes from every single step.

I start to recognise some of the area, but I can’t place where in Beacon Hills I am, considering a lot of the area looks the same. I jog down the end of the road and turn left, continuing at the same break-neck speed when I hear a siren coming from ahead of me. I stick to the sidewalk as I squint ahead, trying to find the squad car, but all I can see are black SUV’s parked outside some park. FBI, I think to myself grimly. Maybe Scott’s dad is there.

Wait, did I say _park_? I look ahead again and spot the park in the distance, with a small waist high fence, on the border of the forest. And I’m headed right towards it.

“No!” I shout to myself out loud, realising that whatever is controlling me is taking me back to the preserve, to the Nemeton. My sudden bout of willpower is enough to give me motor control again, and I stop suddenly, panting and in pain. I’m close enough to see the officers in charge, two FBI suits, (thankfully neither of them a McCall) standing around the park, police tape covering the area, and one- no, two ambulances on the road.

 

I go against my better judgement and wander ahead to the crowd of people watching behind the police tape. I try and look above their heads to try and decipher what’s happening, my blood running cold. Is it something to do with me? Did someone find the blood on the floor and call the police? If that’s the case, then why are there paramedics here?

I reach the crowd at the border of the crime scene, and use my small build to burrow through to the front of the line, anxiety bubbling in the pit of stomach, worried at what I’ll find in the crime scene. Is there gonna be some manhunt for me, now?

What I find, however, is much more disturbing than I imagined. What was once a kid-friendly park is now covered in blood splatters, much more that I think I bled when I was here yesterday. There are large pools of blood in areas too, including next to the fence where I collapsed on the floor, and on the park bench where I sat after, not to mention a few more that _definitely_ were not mine. That’s when I notice the body bags.

“What happened?” I breathlessly ask one of the curious pedestrians next to me, watching the FBI question people. Witnesses, probably. I try and sound as disinterested as possible when asking, to try and sound less surprised.

“Quadruple homicide. 4 teens from the area.” The elderly woman sighs sadly next to me, not looking away from the crime scene, so she luckily missed my reaction.

I almost collapse in shock at the news. Four deaths? When? I was here, not even 12 hours ago, and I’m pretty sure there were no dead people there then. Did the thing that attacked me go after them, too? Or did I? If the FBI are here, that means it’s got to be murder, and not an animal attack, which does nothing to help my nerves, considering the thing that attacked me was animal, not human. I’m a human, not animal.  

“This is an active crime scene, please move along. If you happen to know anything about the investigation, please inform us, but other than that, move along!” Comes a tired voice from my left, some cop trying to control the peace, most likely. Most move along reluctantly, casting one last look behind them, as if some new development would have presented itself, but some seem undeterred by the agent telling them to leave, and are curious enough to stay and find anything they can out about the incident. Even if I _wasn’t_ in the category of curious people, which I definitely am, I probably still wouldn’t leave due to the pain whenever I move. So I stay, and watch the cops with morbid fascination as they work. They have witnesses, and they could’ve seen something, what if someone saw me? By the colour of some of the blood misting, I can tell that it’s completely dried, a more corundum-like, coppery colour, as opposed to a bright red, and that tells me that these people died a while ago. How much time was between me leaving, and them dying? If there was any overlap at all, and a witness saw me leaving, then… What about those cars that passed me this morning? Or those drunk students? Either of them could have seen me, like Kira did. I can’t help but notice that those guys by the blood are definitely forensic scientists, and I’m pretty sure I can see them taking samples. What happens when they take my blood? There’s no way I can deal with this right now, with everything else going on. I turn to leave, before the same agent apparently spots me.

“A Stilinski in the middle of a crime scene, again. Why am I not surprised?” Drones the voice as it makes a beeline towards me, and I groan as I recognise the person coming. How I didn’t realise straight away with his stupid loud voice is a mystery.

“Because this is a relatively small town, McCall. Word travels.” I sigh, as agent Raphael McCall zeros in on me, stopping right in front of me, notebook in hand.

“I wish that were the case, Stilinski.” He shakes his head, a faint smile on his face. “So, did you see anything, or is this gonna be another waste of both our lives?” He drawls, flipping the book open as he takes a step forward, as if showing off how he’s behind the police tape, and I’m on the other side.

“Every time you talk to me is a waste of my time, McCall, so there’s nothing new there. But, concerning the crime scene, no. I just got here, so you can put your little notebook away because your questions won’t work.” I smirk, as he sighs dramatically, but stays put. The looks he’s giving me tells me that he knows I’m not telling him something, which usually isn’t that much of a problem, but this time it could literally land me in jail for multiple murders, with no alibi. “But is there something you can tell _me_ about this incident?” I add cockily, trying to play this off as curiousness and not desperation that they know something, anything that could land me in prison.

“That’s _Agent_ McCall, kid. And why would I tell a _civilian_ anything at all?” McCall smiles, knowing that his wording would get me riled up. I refuse to erupt into a rant right here, due to the fact he could probably arrest him if I rub him the wrong way. As I glare at his face angrily, I can feel our debate drawing the attention of some of the pedestrians who decided to stick around, probably interested to know anything they can about what happened, or just intrigued at the fact that a teen is picking a fight with an FBI agent.

“Because I feel that I could be an asset to the investigation.” I smile back with more bravado than I feel, trying desperately not to rise the bait. I will myself to stand completely upright, and not let him know I’m in any pain, or that I’m weakened.

“What could _you_ possibly have to offer?” He laughs, causing me to grit my teeth angrily.

“Because even though I’m only a _civilian_ , I can clearly see that there are 6 pools of blood on the floor over there.” I count quickly, pointing over to the park. He opens his mouth to protest, probably to praise me sarcastically for being able to count to six, but I continue relentlessly. “Four of them are big enough, and deep enough to show that that’s where the 4 victims were murdered individually, probably each with one significant wound, my guess would be bullet.” I speculate wildly, not even knowing what I’m saying as it’s coming out of my mouth. “The fifth, over by that fence, is too small and insignificant to show any mortal injury, so it was probably someone who was already injured, trying to climb over that fence, causing them to bleed a small amount of blood where they stood, and I’d bet there’s blood all over the fence where they tried to climb over. Also, the blood by the park bench shows someone who was injured had to sit down, and if you look at the blood splatters on the floor, it leads to the fence, meaning it would be the same person. But then there’s this whole other thing, about is that a fifth victim, or the murderer?” I list impressively, well aware that I’m completely throwing myself under the bus, because when they test that blood and figure out it was me, then there’ll be undeniable proof that I had something to do with this, even though I technically _didn’t_. I can’t seem to stop myself from talking, just so I can wipe the smug smile off his face, but I get more and more nervous when I reach the end because I’m guessing about my _own blood_ which cannot end well. “Did I forget anything?” I add sarcastically, trying to get the nervousness out of my voice.

The other spectators who took to watching out heated debate looked pretty surprised when I list the facts to the crime, facts that were probably not obvious to any normal witness, and by the end, they look pretty impressed, which gives me an odd sense of superiority, even though I basically handed myself over to the police. It doesn’t help that while I was talking, McCall’s face dropped almost immediately, and he started jotting down notes of what I was saying, proving his incompetence to the rest of the crowd, if he was outsmarted by a teen.

“I can tell you’re probably not going to leave me alone until I congratulate you, or something. But, putting my completely rational dislike for you aside, you did actually contribute something, so I’ll give you one bit of information. Only one thing, then you’ve got to shut up.” He admits, surprising me slightly at his willingness to actually tell me information about the crime. I nod at his conditions eagerly, crossing my arms as he lowers his voice. “The fifth guy, we already figured that out. I mean, obviously, we’re not idiots. But the tracks seem to disappear into the forest, leading us to believe that it _is_ the assailant, considering we can’t find any other tracks leading to or from the area.” He explains, his voice dropping so that only I can hear, and I feel myself go numb as I almost burst out into a fit of hysterical giggles. They think… that _I’m_ the murderer. They’re gonna run my blood, which is in abundance, and they’re gonna think I killed those people. I don’t know if that’s a coincidence, or if whoever killed these people is trying to frame me, but that’s it. I’m done. I hope prison has nice food.

“What if the killer is coming out of the forest, and leaves the other way?” I hear the words tumble out of my mouth without meaning, knowing that I’m just digging my own grave. Even though I’m trying to lead them away from the Nemeton, that means that they’re gonna follow my trail of blood the other way, which leads directly to Deaton’s, who probably has security cameras showing me breaking in, covered in blood. No matter what happens, I’m completely screwed. I could wait until after they try and take the sample, and then break into the forensics lab, and steal it- no, no! That’s insane! I’m not breaking in to FBI headquarters to steal vital evidence, that’s a whole other crime. Well, it’s probably not as bad as four counts of murder, and you know what they say, in for a penny… Even though in my mind, I’ve already been tried and convicted for this crime I didn’t commit, I’m still not 100% sure I _didn’t_ do it. I mean, I probably didn’t, right? I don’t think it was me… I don’t think-

“I’m sorry; do _you_ want to run the investigation?” Agent McCall cuts across sarcastically, disrupting my very illegal train of thought, even though I can see him writing something down, probably my suggestion. He then flips the page over and writes something else, and underlines it three times, obviously stating its importance. I can’t see what it is, but the certainty makes me nervous. And being nervous makes me sarcastic.

“You know what? Yes, I would like to run this investigation. I’d probably do it better than _you_.” I reply, coming across slightly rude, but I can’t stop myself. I feel my heart flutter uncertainly, as spots appear in my vision, but I plough through determinately, with only one goal clear in my mind; insult McCall. “Hey, how’s that search for those killer sword-wielding ninjas?” I ask, cocking me head to the side, knowing the ridicule he got for suggesting that in the sheriff’s office. Even though he got shot down immediately, he wasn’t that far off, with the Oni. But my dad had to shut him up, because if he found the Oni, he would’ve found me. I’m not sure what it is about complete and utter terrified panic, but it makes me really mean. I hear a cop behind me snigger at my comment, probably one that was there when he made the suggestion. McCall glares at him, which shuts him up.

“What are you doing here Stiles? I thought you were supposed to be missing, or something.” McCall sighs finally, unable to retort with a comeback, or maybe he’s catching on to how much I’m shaking in fear that he decided to drop it. I’m a little irritated that he knew I was missing but didn’t bring it up, but that’s dwarfed by my current issues.

“I was. I just came back today.” I reply shortly, purposely not getting into details, even though I know how guilty it makes me sound.

“Stiles, I’m really not here for your sarcasm today, I’ve got a job to do.” He frowns, clearly misreading my comment. I glance behind him, and see people in white coats taking samples of the blood. They started with the larger pools, thankfully, but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t going to inspect one, or both of mine. The waiting actually makes it worse. Maybe they’ll be able to see the blood pattern, and see the difference in how I was injured. Maybe they’ll be able to figure out the exact time the blood was spilt, so splitting it to two different times? I’m completely grasping at straws here, and I don’t really know what Beacon Hills’ forensics lab is like. I didn’t even know we _had_ one.

“No, I meant that seriously.” I insist, looking away from the scene when I remember the flier, that’s miraculously still in my clenched hand. “Look at this.” I add, handing the crumpled piece of paper over, as he straightens it out and reads it over, his eyes widening by the end.

“And you were just carrying this around?” He asks, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, as he folds it over and places it in his pocket. Well _that_ doesn’t seem ominous. Why does he want to keep it?

“I just saw it on the wall and ripped it off. It’s a little unnerving having my face plastered up all over town, especially considering I’m not missing anymore.” I shrug, trying to say the bare minimum. There’s no need for him to know to anything that doesn’t directly involve him. Oh look, that means nothing.

“What time did you say you came back?” He questions me, his tone of voice different. The way he worded the question is different too, it’s not ‘what happened to you’, or anything expressing concern, it’s more of a cop question, like he’s-

“Are you interrogating me?” I ask in incredulity, a slightly loud outburst that draws the attention back to us. I don’t really know why I’m surprised, considering I just said explained the whole crime scene without even going to it, and I’m acting pretty suspiciously. It just makes so much fucking _sense_ that I’m the killer, it irritates me. Whoever’s trying to frame me is winning.

“I don’t know, Stilinski, do I _need_ to interrogate you?” He interrogates arrogantly, crossing his arms and standing up straight. Crap, he _is_ questioning me.

“Yep, you caught me. I killed these people, with no motive, reason, or weapon. Good job, officer! The law wins again!” I exclaim, sarcasm dripping off every word as I throw my arms up in mock surrender, knowing how bad this would probably sound when they realise that I don’t have an alibi and that they have solid evidence. He probably knows this too, and I see him smile viciously at me, as if he knew something I didn’t. He keeps the same smug look on his face when his notebook falls out of his hand, and bounces over to my feet.

“God, hold things much?” I joke nervously, bending down to pick it up for him. I painfully crouch down into a squatting position, knowing that I flinched visibly, and I see the notebook is open, showing two pages, both filling me with dread. One has a witness’ description of a suspect; around 5”11, slim build, dark brown hair, and a limp, which matches my description to a t. The other page is what McCall was underlining with vigour. It says my name, with a question mark at the end of it, circled and underlined. I hesitate visibly, and I can feel his eyes bore into my head. He did this on purpose, he’s trying to scare me. That’s got to be it. There’s no way he actually thinks that I… that I… Does he?

I swallow down all my fears, and pick up the notebook, ripping out both pages quickly and subtly, where he can’t see me. Next thing I know, he’s squatting in front of me, and he plucks the notebook out from my fingers with one smooth motion, the same smug smile on his face. I shove the ripped pages into my pocket as he leans forward.

“Next time you carry a gun to a crime scene, make sure you put it somewhere more subtle.” He whispers, before standing up and walking away, a smile on his face as I stay frozen on the floor. I forgot about Scott’s gun in my pants. But now that he reminded me, I can feel the cool metal press against my spine, and I know I’m sweating and shaking when I stand up, trying desperately now to show that my leg isn’t in pain, even though I’m pretty sure he saw me flinch when I bent over to pick it up. Motherfucker… he planned the whole thing. Is this some kind of scare tactic? Because the more I’m thinking about it, the more like an interrogation it seems. He might actually arrest me. Jesus Christ, this is real. I drag my hand through my hair, and I see how much I’m shaking, and I let out a breathy laugh at the hopeless situation. Hopefully no one is noticing how much I’m visibly breaking down.

 

I watch McCall disappear into the distance, probably going to his superior to ask to get a warrant to search my house or some shit. I finger the two pieces of paper in my pocket nervously before preparing to leave, just wanting to go home and try and figure out what to do until my impending arrest.

“This wasn’t you, you know.” Comes a voice so close to my side that I can feel my heart in my throat as I almost let out a scream.

“Jesus _fuck_!” I yell in shock, turning to find Allison standing there, with her hands in her pockets, watching McCall disappear with malice. Huh, I’d completely forgotten that I was going crazy. Scott’s probably somewhere behind me too, knowing my luck. It slipped my mind that there was a reason I was here, one that doesn’t involve being accused of murder.

I ignore the questioning glances from people passing by, after my seemingly unprovoked scream, and walk away pointedly in a random direction that was away from the preserve, away from McCall, away from Allison, just _away_.

“You can’t just walk away from me!” Allison yells behind me, sounding slightly dejected, but I’m not in the mood for humouring my mental episode.

“I can try.” I mutter to myself, knowing that if Allison wasn’t a figment of my imagination, she wouldn’t have heard that. But it appears she did, which shows at least that I _am_ going crazy. Just one more thing to add to the list of issues that’ll probably come up again in the immediate future.

I shove my hands in my pockets forcefully, and start walking away quickly, not looking back. My left foot is about to stomp down on the concrete-

-but it suddenly turns to soft grass, relatively spongy under my feet. I don’t even have the energy to wonder what the hell had just happened, because it was probably just another time skip to another random location. _Hey, maybe I missed most of the day this time_ , I think grimly, without the energy to feel remotely sad about that.

My legs collapse from under me, and I fall to the ground, my back whacking against a smooth, upright rock behind me, which is when I realise where I am. Inches in front of my face is a greying gravestone, with the name ‘Claudia Stilinski’ carved onto it, weathered due to all the years left to exposure. I crawl up to it, like I used to when I was younger, and sit down, leaning against it. My knees have grass stains on them, but luckily the ground is dry. I finger the dying flowers in front of the headstone, knowing how dad comes here once a month to add more. I used to come here often too, when I was younger, just to feel closer to her again. I don’t visit as much anymore, because I’d feel like she’d be disappointed with what I’d become, steadily worsening over the years. She doesn’t need to see the moral degradation of her son. None of that matters anymore, though, as I feel tears finally break and streak down my face when I huddle up against my mom’s grave, making sure to sit on the side, just in case I step on anyone’s graves.

As much as the time skips scare me, because of my fear of losing my mind all over again, I’ve got to admit that this time it was a nice surprise. At the time that I remember last, I felt really crappy, with no idea where to go. I must’ve figured out what I wanted, walked the whole way there, and found the right grave, but I don’t remember any of it. All I know is I felt sad one minute, the next I had what I didn’t even realise I wanted. That’s probably not the best attitude to have, but with all my problems currently crushing me, I have to focus on the little things.

I realise that I should probably figure out what time it is, and I dig into my pockets to try and find my phone. I feel the cool case against my palm, and when I look down to see the time, I recoil in horror. My hand, the one not wrapped in gauze, is completely soaked in blood. I feel my heartbeat spike with anxiety, as I desperately try and wipe it off on the grass. It happened again. I probably killed someone without realising and now I’ve got blood on my hands, and- and oh my god-

“It’s your blood.” I hear Allison tell me, and I look up to see her sitting down on the grass opposite me, watching my actions with concern. Her legs are crossed, and she seems pretty composed considering her… current situation.

“Oh, thank god.” I sigh in relief, as I continue with checking my phone, which tells me that only about 10 minutes has passed, thankfully. At least these skips aren’t increasing in length consistently. “Wait, that’s not good either.” I frown, at the weird reaction I had when I realised I had my own blood all over my hands.

“I thought it was an odd way to act.” Allison laughs, uncrossing her legs as she watches my face with curiosity. I find myself unable to look at her, because I feel incredible amounts of guilt whenever I do, remembering I’m the reason that she’s dead in the first place. It doesn’t help that she’s being her normal, humble, incredibly nice self. Why can’t she be mad at me? Why can’t she yell at me, accept that I’m at fault? It won’t make me feel better, but it’ll make me realise I have a reason to feel guilty.

“Where are we?” She asks a minute later, shaking me out of my thoughts.

I reach over and place my hand on the cold stone, and tap it twice. “My mom’s grave. I used to come here a lot as a kid, and I don’t know, I guess I just needed it today.” I admit sadly, meeting her eyes. I feel a twang of guilt when she looks at me, but it’s worth it to look at her again. I want to tell her how much I miss her, but the words don’t come out.

“Mine’s over there.” She nods, looking over to the east side of the graveyard, where I guess they put the new graves.

“I didn’t know that.” I comment hollowly, feeling saddened by the reminder that I hadn’t gone to her funeral. I didn’t even know it was on the day I disappeared, so there’s a chance I would’ve missed it even if I wasn’t lying face-down in a ditch. What a great friend I’ve been.

“I didn’t think you would have.” She agrees quietly, nodding her head gently. She looks at the grave beside me, probably reading the generic small print, about being a good wife and a great mother. I listen to the birds chirping, and a lawnmower in the distance, trying to distance myself from reality before something occurs to me.

“Wait, I didn’t know that.” I repeat, looking over at Allison. I couldn’t have known that, because I was dead when she was buried. If she knows it, that means she can’t be a figment of my imagination, or at least I’m hoping she’s not. “ _I_ didn’t know that!”

“Yeah, you already said that. I thought we’d passed this?” She informs me slowly, narrowing her eyes like she’s trying to see if anything’s wrong with me. “Are you okay?”

“What? Yeah- I’m fine. But that’s not the point! If you know things that I don’t, then that’s got to mean I’m not just hallucinating you, right?” I reason, hoping that she can give an answer of any kind. I’m not exactly sure why it would make such a difference, if she was actually here or not. But it might at least prove I’m not losing my mind, shouldn’t it?

Allison looks at me for a second, before bursting out into laughter. Even though it’s at my expense, it still sounds nice to her laughter again.

“Is that what this has been about? You don’t know whether I’m _real_ or not?” She giggles, finally calming down. She’s taking everything pretty well, considering she’s dead. If I was a ghost, and the only person who could see me was, well _me_ , I’d be pretty pissed about the whole affair.

“Well? Are you?” I question tentatively, trying to get a straight answer from her. I don’t know what answer I’m hoping for when I ask the question, because either I’m crazy, or one of my closest friends is stuck as a ghost and no one can see her. It’s a pretty damning question either way.

“Honestly? I don’t know. It could be either.” She finally reveals, after a second of hesitation. She looks down at her hands, and I feel the urge to apologise constantly for everything that I’ve done. I know I won’t be able to get any words out, and it’s pretty painful to be unable to talk. What does this even mean, though? Why can only I see her, and Isaac? Why is it this just happening to me, like some sort of cruel punishment? “I feel exactly the same as I did before.” Allison continues, looking back up at me. “I mean, I know I’m dead, I remember that. But it’s the little things; I can still feel the breeze, I can still smell the pollen in the air. But no one else can see me, either. That came as a pretty big shock.”

“How long have you been…” I ask, unsure how to finish the question. _A ghost? Back from the dead?_ “…here?” I finish lamely, shrugging at my lack of words.

“I don’t remember exactly, but the first thing I can see clearly was a couple of days after my funeral. I’ve just been around on and off since then.” She shrugs, leaning back against the headstone behind her. I rest my head against my mom’s headstone, absentmindedly rubbing the blood off of my hand onto my shirt. I don’t try and get up, not that I’d want to for at least a couple of hours, but I don’t think I’d be able to. Not only am I completely exhausted, but I put so much pressure on every painful body part that even when I’m not using any of them, they burn like fire. If I put any more weight on my leg, it genuinely might snap like a twig.

“I’m just gonna assume that you’re real.” I sigh, not really sure if it’s relief or weariness that’s washing over me. “Just on the basis that I don’t want to think that I’m going completely crazy.” I add, just to clarify.

“Well, at least you’re talking to me now.” She grins, seemingly accepting my admission with no effort.

“That was completely your fault, in my defence. If you try and talk to anyone who’s under the impression that you’re dead, maybe start with ‘hello’?” I smile back at her, remembering how she tried to catch my attention by shouting at me.

“Hey, I tried it your way for a whole month, but no one could hear me. By the time I tried talking to you, I was pretty irritated and so I didn’t even try to play it down. I had no idea you’d actually be able to _hear_ me. But really, running away was a bit much.” She laughs, and I join in. Admittedly, a lot of problems could have been avoided if I just explained myself. I wouldn’t have run into McCall, for starters.

“ _McCall._ ” I whisper suddenly, as I feel my eyes widen in shock. I shove my hand in my pocket and retrieve the two ripped pages, fingering them delicately with my bandaged hand as I feel my heart start to speed up. Is there any way that he’d actually go through with this? Sure, he’s a cop first, and this is an obvious lead, but what about Scott? His _son_? He’d hate his dad if he went through with this, but I’m not sure if that’s enough to stop him. Am I really gonna rely on an estranged father’s love for his son, instead of working to prove my innocence for murders that I didn’t commit?

“I never liked that guy.” Allison admits, watching me with concern as I feel the blood drain from my face.

“Did you actually ever meet him?” I cough out, trying to distract myself from my own thoughts.

“I did, but only once or twice. I set off a smoke grenade in his face.” She grins, as if remembering the memory. I let out a bark of laughter at her words.

“Oh man, I would’ve paid to see that.” I snort, imagining seeing him flustered as a teenage girl threw a smoke grenade at him. It was probably directly after waking up after the 16 hour sacrifice, in retrospect, so it’s no wonder I didn’t know it happened. I realise with a jolt that that’s when the Nogitsune probably entered my head, and my smile immediately fades.

“You know that you didn’t do what he’s saying, right?” Allison asks nervously, sensing my sudden mood change.

“It doesn’t matter if I think I did it or not, _he_ does. My DNA is all over the crime scene, someone apparently saw me there at the wrong time, and _this!_ ” I sigh angrily, leaning forward slightly so that I can retrieve the gun from my pants. “This might be the murder weapon. Who knows?” I brandish it wildly, looking at it closely for the first time. It’s a compact 9mm, probably a Glock model 19, which can hold 15 rounds. I’ve been around a lot of guns in my life, so I know how to manoeuvre one, especially one like this. I take the clip out, and see a few bullets missing, at least 5 of them. It’s a bit unnerving that any have been used at all, considering Scott had this before me. Did he shoot this at something? At some _one_? No, he said Derek had this gun before him; it’s equally likely that he did the shooting. At least I hope.

“But it wasn’t you!” Allison yells in frustration, and I almost jump at her sudden anger. It makes sense that I’d be the one getting angry, considering I’m the one who’s a suspect for multiple murders, but Allison seems even angrier than I am. Sure, maybe the panic I have is being stored in my head, as opposed to releasing it into the open, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

“How could you possibly know that?” I ask, placing the gun on my legs as I recognise the certainty in her voice.

“I saw it happen!” She shouts shrilly, making me freeze in suspense. Does she know who did it? I open my mouth to ask her, but she continues talking. “Before you ask, no, I didn’t see who did it. I was pretty far away, but it was obvious that it wasn’t you. This person was more buff, you know, he didn’t look like a teenager. The four people-  the ones who died, they were all on the floor, and one at a time this person just put a bullet in each of their brains, before calmly walking away. I didn’t see who it was, and I didn’t see where he went, but I do know that it wasn’t you." She adds quickly, before I can even close my mouth. I grimace at the executioner-style murderer, and can’t help let a little disappointment flash on my face for a second. None of this makes sense! Who was that guy who killed them, and was he the person who attacked me, or the one who messaged Kira? And why were these teenagers just lying on the floor when they were killed? It was four against one, they could have at least fought back, couldn’t they? I sigh internally at the lack of clues here, but I’m thankful to Allison that she could tell me anything at all.

“At least I know it wasn’t me, then.” I shrug, stating the obvious even though it won’t matter in any court of law. I can’t exactly say ‘oh yeah this guy did it, a ghost told me so’. But it did at least help me with peace of mind. “Hey, you said you remember everything after your funeral, right? So, were you around for the whole ‘missing Stiles’ incident?” I question suddenly, wanting to change the subject.

“The whole time.” Allison nods, her voice sounding a little strained when she admits it. “It was horrible, with the waiting, and the not knowing. It made it worse that I couldn’t do anything to help, either. I could see everyone just starting to give up on themselves, and I just wanted to do _something_ to help them. Then the Isaac thing happened…” She shivers, looking downcast as she remembers back.

“What… what happened to him?” I ask cautiously, curiosity taking over.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there when it happened, and I never even saw his body, or heard what had happened to him. He doesn’t know, either.” She tells me regretfully, as if she blames herself for him dying. I register her words silently for a couple of seconds, as silence falls around the both of us. I realise with a jolt that I can’t hear Allison breathing. Does she breathe?

“You can see him too, then? “ I wonder, and she nods slowly, as if just now realising that I can too. “But what does it mean if I can see you two? Why is it just me, and no one else?” I add, racking my brain to try and decipher what’s happening. It feels like some important clue, but I can’t place why. I silently curse my mind for being completely useless recently, from being able to think about what to say, to forgetting whole conversations.

“You can see him? Maybe it’s something to do with you dying, or almost dying, or whatever? Some kind of weird after effect that means you can see ghosts? Sorry, it’s the only thing I can think of on the spot.” She smiles apologetically, glancing around her, as if looking if he’s standing behind her. But all that’s around either of us are gravestones and an otherwise empty field.

“Hey Allison, how much do you know about what happened to me?” I question her suddenly, her words finally registering in my head. I never told her about almost dying. “I mean, you knew I was missing, but you seem to act like you’ve seen me pretty recently.”

“Well,” She squirms uncomfortably. “Isaac and I were walking down the edge of the preserve, early in the morning, when he spotted you falling over this fence into some park, looking like you were put through some industrial meat grinder. Isaac sprinted off into the forest, like it was his first instinct, just to see if he could catch a scent or something of whatever did _that_ to you. I went forward to see if you were okay, because you were clearly not, but then I saw Kira. I assumed she’d help you, and considering the likelihood that you’d actually be able to see me was pretty slim, I just went after Isaac. Neither of us found anything, though.”

“Okay, but you said it was ‘something to do with me dying’. Sure, I probably looked close to dying, but I’m assuming you didn’t just _guess_ that, considering I have actually died once or twice recently.” I continue, as she still looks a little uncomfortable. I’ve honestly passed the point where I’m worried how much people know about what happened, I just want to know for the sake of knowing. She tucks a small tuft of hair behind her ear, as she glances up at me. She must sense my apathy towards the situation, as the next thing I know she’s opening her mouth.

“After we didn’t find anything, I decided to go back to check if you were still alive. I felt pretty bad about the whole thing, because I could see how badly you were hurt, and I just left before seeing if you were okay.” She continues slowly. “That’s when I saw that… that _monster_ kill those kids. You have no idea- I thought one of them was _you_! I never ran so fast in my life, but it- it was too late. Too late for any of them.”

Allison drifts off for a minute, and silence fills the air again. A part of me wants her to keep talking, but I have no idea how to ask her to without sounding like an insensitive dick. There isn’t really a manual on how to console your dead friend, or any etiquette on how to act at all. I’m mostly winging this on the hope that this is all in my imagination.

“That’s when I saw the trail of blood leading away.” She bristles, making an effort to sound more serious as tremors threaten to disrupt her continuation. “It didn’t take long to find you, limping over to Deaton’s. And god, I just wanted to ask you if you were alright, I just wanted to talk to you, but you couldn’t hear me and I- I was getting desperate.” She stammers, her head shaking slightly as I flinch at her reaction. It’s because of us- _me_ \- that she’s so scared. “I had no way to see if you were okay, so I just- I followed you.”

“Oh.” I comment simply, slightly confused. Was that it? Sure, it’s a bit weird that she followed me, but that’s not even close to being the worst thing that’s happened to me.

“I know, I’m sorry Stiles, I probably shouldn’t have done anything, you need privacy-” Allison rambles incoherently, apparently mistaking my comment for anger.

“Allison, that’s not what I meant.” I laugh, only leaving me coughing and wincing seconds later. “I only meant is that it? The way you were building it up made it sound like you murdered someone.” I explain, after catching my breath. I feel my eyelids droop down unexpectedly, but I doubt that it’s because I need to sleep.

“You’re not weirded out by a ghost stalker?” She smiles, concern crossing her delicate features when I struggle to stay conscious.

“If this is considered stalking, I’d probably be in prison right now.” I joke, placing a heavy hand on my forehead and feeling it almost boil under my clammy palm. “Wait, have you been with me all day? Since Deaton’s?”

“On and off, sure.” She replies uncertainly, as my head starts to throb violently as the sun beats down on me.

“What did I do after leaving Deaton’s?” I ask urgently, remembering my false memories of arriving at home soon after.

“You went back to your house, don’t you remember?”

“But who was there? Did I talk to _anyone_?” I ask exasperatedly, trying to lean forward eagerly only to recoil in pain seconds later, black spots clouding my vision.

“Stiles, please don’t move. I have seen how badly you’re hurt, even if you don’t want to admit it, and I’m worried of the effect it’s having on you.” Allison worries, after a second of hesitation. She looks like she wants to say something else, but she restrains herself.

“Just answer the question.” I sigh, gritting my teeth in pain. “Please.”

“There wasn’t anyone there, you let yourself in.” Allison finally reveals, and I feel my stomach turn at the news. I _did_ imagine it then. “You did have a pretty lengthy conversation with someone on the phone, though. For about half an hour before Scott came back.”

“With who?” I ask quickly, before remembering the discarded phone at my side. I don’t even wait for an answer before I’m unlocking the smudged screen and scrolling through my recent calls. There are only two on the list, the first being Scott, who I phoned in the forest with no answer. When I see the name of the second, I almost choke in surprise. “ _Derek_?”

 

A thousand questions in the form of small needles burrow into my brain before I can even think about why I phoned Derek this morning, and why he acted like it was the first he’d heard from me? I mean, the almost-murdering me was pretty believable. It feels like someone whacked me in the head with a baseball bat, and then again with some kind of giant decorative war-hammer. I grasp my head in both hands tightly, ignoring the searing pain from my burnt hand as it’s dwarfed by the pain exploding in my head. It feels like a dam, that was just barely leaking a minute ago, has burst open, leaking an ocean of pain everywhere.

I faintly hear Allison shout my name, but when I open my mouth to respond all that comes out is a pain-filled grunt. I press harder against the sides of my head, hoping to alleviate the pressure somehow, but nothing seems to stop this unending horde of destruction. My head feels like it’s about to be cleaved in two and I can distantly hear shouting, but I don’t even know if it’s from me or her. I roll onto my side without realising, and I feel the pressure build up behind my eyes as a wet substance trickles down my nose. Then, as suddenly as it happened, the pain faded away to a dull buzzing, the only evidence of anything happening being the tears in my eyes and my sore throat, and the fresh blood running down my face.

I roll on to my back and groan loudly, finally removing my palms from my temples as everything starts to hurt. I glance to my side and see Allison kneeling next to me, her eyes wide and fearful.

“Stiles… Stiles talk to me!” Her voice swirls, sounding both distant and close. “What’s wrong?”

“’M alright, I just-” I hear myself slur, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth as my vision continues to darken. “God, my head-”

“Stop- don’t try and get up.” Allison cries out after I attempt to get to my feet. I go against every screaming cell in my body and her words as I push downwards and struggle to a standing position. “Stiles, please!”

“This is what I get for enabling my delusions.” I mutter under my breath, ignoring the pounding in my head. This is the last straw. I’m clearly suffering from some kind of mental break, probably some blood clot or something that’s causing me to see, hear, fucking _smell_ things that aren’t there. I’m probably still in the god damn forest, dead or dying. Or stuck inside my own head with the Nogitsune. It would make sense with all the weird interactions all over town. I mean _ghosts_? Seriously? If it wanted to make me think I was actually here, why would it make me see dead people?

“Stiles, I’m not-” I hear Allison start behind me, probably getting to her own feet.

“I don’t know how much of this is real! Is any of it?” I snap, rounding on her. My sudden anger shocks the both of us, but when I don’t show it, I can see Allison falter as she takes a step away from me. Whatever guilt still resided in me doubled in size at the hurt expression on her face.

“This isn’t a dream, Stiles!” Allison balks, matching my volume. “You almost died!”

“I wish I did!” I yell over the buzzing in my head, and immediately regret my words. Allison pales in front of me, her jaw clenching as she feels at a loss for words. I use her silence as an excuse to turn around, trying desperately to leave. Maybe I’ll wake up in a totally different place, and continue the horrible waking nightmare.

I barely take two steps away before she finally finds her voice.

“What about your dad?”

 

After her voice stops echoing around my ears, the air is so silent that I can hear my heart beating. I’m not even sure if I’m breathing. I freeze mid-motion milliseconds before my foot hits the spongy earth, an image of my dad’s hurt face swirling in front of my vision.

“Don’t bring my dad into this.” I whisper angrily, as I spin around with rage in my eyes. This time, she doesn’t back down.

“You just want to leave him, huh?” She goads, taking a large step forward to stare directly into my eyes. I can tell there’s no malice in her eyes, but all I can see is red.

“Allison, don’t. _Don’t_.” I warn her, my hands balling into fists at my sides.

“What about Scott, huh? What about Lydia? Or Derek? Kira, Malia, Cora, Scott’s mom, huh? Did you ever think about them?”

“Of course I thought about them! They’re the only fucking things I _did_ think about!” I yell, throwing up my arms in anger. There’s no reason why she should be getting under my skin so easily, but her accusing tone just aggravates me easily. Shockingly easily.

“Think about what you’re saying. Really _think_ before you open your mouth.” Allison calmly explains, taking another small step closer. “Your actions- what you decide to do- they don’t revolve around what _you_ think is right all the time. I’m not sure what kind of self-deprecating-” She starts, teeth gritted, prodding sharply at my shoulder at each word for emphasis. “-idiotic, _selfish_ thoughts have been planted in your head, but you’re wrong! Every little thing, every _miniscule_ decision you make has an impact on the people around you, and the sooner you start to realise that, the sooner you’ll stop feeling so _sorry_ for yourself!”

“It’s not that _easy_!” I shout, poking her shoulder angrily, the same way she did mine. “I _have_ been thinking, and I _know_ that none of this would’ve happened if I’d stayed dead! I’m not making a conscious decision to hurt everyone around me, I can just see that everything I do makes everything just slightly worse!”

Allison just scoffs at me for a second, and I seethe angrily before she finally responds. “Do you even hear yourself talk? Do you know how hypocritical you sound?” She laughs coldly, running a hand through her hair. My jaw drops, as I wordlessly glare at her. _Hypocritical_? “Imagine this conversation was reversed, would you be saying the same thing? Oh, wait! This exact argument has _already_ happened, and you’re too stubborn to see that you switched sides! Don’t you remember, the Glen Capri? Do you remember what you told Scott?”

“No.” I lie easily, glancing down as my anger dissipated quickly, like gas being released from a balloon. Of _course_ I remember that night, Scott standing there with the flare in his hand, the gasoline burning my nose as I stepped closer to him. I’d never been so scared of what would happen in my life, and at that point I’d already been kidnapped twice and been attacked by multiple angry werewolves and a glorified lizard.

“Well thank _god_ I’m here.” She smiles sarcastically, baring all her teeth viciously as she senses her argument winning. “Because I happen to have a _great memory_! See, how I remember it, is that Scott was feeling pretty hopeless, that nothing he did was making anything better. He thought it would just be in everyone’s best interests if he died. Does that sound familiar?”

“Alright, I get it, I get it! But the circumstances have changed now, I didn’t ‘ _switch sides_ ’! You can’t compare what I want to- what I- what I said with his… with that night!” I stutter, continuing to look down as hopelessness replaces my rage. Allison’s anger, however, only seems to be building.

“How? How was that any different?” She sighs in a frustrated tone, crossing her arms as she glares directly into my eyes. I was looking at my feet nervously, but I could feel her gaze on my face so I looked up at her, meeting her fiery gaze with my pleading look.

“Because Scott’s never killed anyone.” I admit quietly, finally saying what was on my mind.

“Neither have you!” Allison argues uncertainly after a moment of hesitation. But that moment was all I needed for conformation.

“Allison, I killed you!” I shout, looking down at my feet again. There’s a long pause after I shout, as the reality of the situation hits me like a train, all the guilt I’d been repressing bubbling up to the surface. I fall to my knees, and then sit back down, leaning against some random tombstone. The pain of everything blurs my eyesight, but it could also be tears. “I killed you.”

“Stiles… you-” Comes the brief, monotonous reply, as her voice looses all gusto when she sits down slowly a few feet away from me, her legs crossed neatly.

“You, Aiden, the people at the hospital, the deputies at the Sheriff’s station.” I list sadly, each addition like a punch to the gut. “You’re all gone because of me. So yeah, maybe my reasons are pretty selfish. But I- I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take the way my dad looks at me as if I’m about to keel over. I can’t take the way Scott looks at me when he thinks I can’t see him. The way Lydia’s eyes widen in fear when she sees me, before realising that I’m _not_ trying to kill her like I did her best friend. I can’t take the voices in my head, or the way I do a double-take whenever I see my reflection. I just can’t take the guilt anymore.”

“Stiles, you didn’t kill any of those people. You didn’t kill me. The _Oni_ killed us; them and the Nogitsune.” Allison informs me, reaching out to grasp my hand amicably, her cold hand cooling my hot palm.

“Yeah, and who let the Nogitsune in? It doesn’t matter if I didn’t pull the trigger myself; the blood is still on my hands.”

“As someone who was killed, I feel like I should have a say in who’s to blame.” Allison mutters matter-of-factly, and I flinch at her words, but agree anyway. If anyone has the right to blame me, it’s her. “I know it wasn’t you, we _all_ know it wasn’t you. You’ve got to know that I don’t, I _never will_ blame you, alright? It’s not your fault.”

I throw my head back at her words, head butting the hard rock behind me. A small part of me recognises the sense in her words, and I _want_ to believe her, but it’s not that easy to let guilt go. I wish it was, but here I am.

“Stiles, look at me. I know it’s not as easy as admitting it to feel better, but it’s a start. I want you to say it. Tell me that it’s not your fault.” She encourages, gripping my hand gently.

“Allison, I-” I start to argue weakly, but her grip tightens.

“Say it. Was it your fault?”

“No…” I sigh uncertainly, knowing that’s what she wants to hear.

“No what?”

“No, it wasn’t my fault.” I grit my teeth, half of me still wondering why I’m doing this at all.

“Come on Stiles, _convince_ me. Was it your fault?” She goads, her eyes flaming when I look at them.

“It wasn’t my fault.” I tell her, my voice raising ever so slightly so that I can hear it echoing across the quiet cemetery.

“Was. It. Your. Fault?” She yells, jabbing my shoulder with each syllable.

“It wasn’t my fault!” I shout, making my throat a little sore. I can hear it echo clearly, and as much as I hate to admit it, I feel the weight on my shoulders lighten, ever-so-slightly. It’s like she said, it’s a start. “It wasn’t my fault.” I exhale, surprised on how relieved I sound.

“How do you feel?” She asks timidly, her voice returning to its normal pitch after a minute.

“Better.” I admit honestly, rubbing the back of my neck nervously when I feel painfully aware of my surroundings.

“Good.” She replies, finally unclenching her hand when she sees she’s still squeezing it tightly. She looks like she’s about to relinquish my hand, but she freezes suddenly. “I can touch you!” She whispers.

“Yeah, I know. You poked me pretty hard earlier; I wouldn’t be surprised if it bruises.” I joke light-heartedly, happy at the change of pace in the conversation. Sure, the little therapy she offered _did_ help more that I thought it would, but there are more pressing matters at hand I’d rather be talking about. Like about _how the fuck_ she’s even here to give me therapy to start with.

She answers me with another sharp jab to the shoulder, her face still frozen in shock as I feign pain. “I wasn’t kidding you know, I should sue you for grievous bodily harm.”

“Stiles, shut up.” She breathes, and I immediately comply. As she continues to grab my shoulder, as if worried it would disintegrate under her fingers, I try and think why she’d get so worked up over this. The only logical explanation is that she can’t touch anyone else, being a ghost and all. But what does that mean for me? I can see, hear and feel her, even though no one else can, am I even alive? I try and place a hand over my chest as subtly as possible, and I breathe in relief when the steady thumping becomes clear. Well then, why can I see her then?

“Allison, what does-” I ask hesitantly, not really sure what I’m going to ask when it’s coming out of my mouth, and definitely sure that I probably don’t want to know the answer.

“Scott’s coming.” She cuts across me suddenly, all wonder leaving her voice as urgency begins to creep in. When I look back at her face, she’s looking just above my head, probably quite far into the distance.

 

I feel a slight panic, mostly ‘ _holy crap how did he find me so quickly what am I going to say to him what am I going to do_ ’, among many, many other fleeting thoughts. I instinctively try and turn around to see, but I feel Allison’s cool hands on either of my cheeks, keeping my head still. I open my mouth to complain, but the words die in my mouth with her look.

“He’s already seen you, and is probably trying to listen to your heartbeat or something, so you’re gonna have to stop talking. He can’t hear me though, so please, just be quiet and listen.” She explains quickly, her firm grip on my face still there. I struggle to nod at her words, closing my mouth when she finally removes her hands. “Look, I understand about just as much as you do right now, probably even less. I want to figure out why you can see me as much as you do, preferably without someone dying in the process.” She rushes, either pointedly ignoring the way my eyes roll or just trying to finish her monologue before Scott gets here. Even with Allison rattling on in front of me, I start to hear footsteps behind me. Heavy, thumping footsteps, belonging to some heavy-footed individual who doesn’t care if I can hear them or not.

I try and keep my breathing steady, which is surprisingly difficult when you hear a lot of information at the same time, and I also try and subtly shuffle over to my mom’s grave, which is luckily only a foot or two away. When I look away from my shaking hands, I see that Allison’s still talking. _Oh shit, I forgot to listen._

“-And I know you probably still feel like shit right now, but please just try and remember what I said. So, I’ll probably come over to your house, and I’ll bring Isaac along, around 7ish to try and explain everything better, okay? Just nod if you agree.” She says, finally standing up to take a few steps away. I nod stiffly at her words, and hope that I didn’t miss anything important when she smiles at me, before turning away. “I’m sorry that I had to explain everything like this, I’ll see you later. Good luck with Scott.”

“I miss you.” I whisper before I can stop myself, hoping that it wasn’t loud enough to hear, but no such luck.

“I miss you, too.” She smiles warmly, before taking one last longing look behind me and walking away.

I want to shout, call after her and ask for help, to try and explain, but before I can even open my mouth, Scott closes in.

 

I can feel him before I can see him, a mixture of all my senses bubbling together. The air feels warmer around him, it always has. I’m not sure if that’s something to do with his werewolf blood, or how he literally sweats out sunshine, but he always made me feel slightly less cold. Today is no different as I pretend to think he isn’t there, when I know that he’s pretty much standing right behind me. If I was sitting on the other side of this gravestone, and the clouds weren’t covering the sun, I’d be able to see his shadow, but for now I have to settle for his warm presence feeling like sunlight on the back of my neck that warms me all the way down to my bones.

“I thought I’d find you here.” Scott admits, finally stepping into view and cutting across my thoughts. I don’t feign surprise when I see him, because honestly I think the corpses heard him coming. There’s a grim smile plastered on his face, and I know he’s probably completely conflicted to see me. Does he yell at me for lying? Does he hug me for almost dying? Or is he going to do his typical thing and talk about the whole ordeal for a painstakingly long time until everyone involved feels a few steps closer to death. The ’Scott McCall way.’

“How? I didn’t even know I was gonna be here.” I sigh, biting my lip nervously when he sits down in Allison’s recently vacated seat. I glance above him as I remember her, but she’s nowhere in sight. Can ghosts turn invisible or something?

“I guess we’re pretty in sync. This is Halloween all over again.” He smiles, still not meeting my gaze.

“That wasn’t my fault! I definitely remember _you_ saying-” I yell, in mock outrage at the memory. There’s a wide smile on my face, but I know he knows it’s mostly fake.

“’I’d prefer to go as Luigi’” Scott quotes the same time I do, our voices ringing in unison. “But for the last time, it was _you_ who said that!”

“It doesn’t matter who said what.” I groan hastily, not being dragged into the same argument. “We both showed up as Mario, so what? I totally wore it better, though.”

“It wasn’t the best impression for our first high school Halloween party.” He shakes his head. “But I can’t deny you definitely wore that plumber’s uniform better than I did. You must’ve been fighting off the ladies all night, right?” He adds sarcastically, laughter ringing out when I splutter indignantly.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up McCall, at least I didn’t almost drown myself while apple bobbing.” I laugh, relishing in the petty banter being exchanged back and forth, trying not to think about how long it can last.

“That was you!” Scott smirks, when the memory finally comes back.

“Huh. Well, that’s irrelevant.” I shrug, as we both fade to silence, small smiles etched on both our faces.

I look down at both my hands on my lap, one still slightly stained red around my fingers with my own blood, the other wrapped tightly in gauze, even though the edges have started to curl upwards where I’ve been picking it unconsciously. I know the rest of my appearance can’t be much better, however. I’ve lost too much blood recently to look remotely healthy, and I was pale before, I must look like a ghost now. Huh, a _ghost_. Odd choice of words.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Scott finally asks, cutting across my critical thoughts to ask the question that’s probably been on his mind for a while. Hell, it’s been on mine for hours. Why did I feel the need to lie to him, to _Scott_ of all people? He didn’t deserve that, he doesn’t deserve the trouble of keeping me along as a friend. But then a second thought slips through the defences of my mind, and directly out of my mouth.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Isaac?” I retort quietly, but instantly regret it when I look up at his face, the mixture of shock and worry swirling to a winning combination to make me feel terrible for inflicting him to feel that.

“I knew how you’d react, and I was trying to put that off until I could break it to you easily.”

“Oh, that’s- _wow_ alright, that’s literally the exact same reason I didn’t tell you.” I smile, almost shocked at his brutal honesty. Then I burst out laughing, ignoring the pain in my chest and the confused look on his face. “I guess it didn’t work out for either of us. Jesus, would you look at us? What happened, Scott? What happened to us to make our ideas of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ so warped?”

“Peter Hale happened. Werewolves happened. It’s because of that that our lives have been thrown into some perpetual morally gray reality.” Scott explains easily. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought that he rehearsed this whole discussion earlier.

“I really am sorry, bro.” I apologise quietly, after another brief pause. “I was just being irritatingly stubborn, I see that now. I should’ve told you earlier what actually happened, the whole truth. I guess I didn’t tell you to start with because I was scared I’d lose you too, and then after that I was just worried you’d be pissed at me for not saying anything sooner.” I admit quickly, trying not to dwell too much on the fact that I’d lied to him. I was too caught up in the heat of things that I didn’t see the selfish reasoning’s behind not telling Scott the truth from the start. I thought that I was doing it to protect him, to distance him from harm’s way, but I guess by doing that I was purposely keeping him in the dark, making sure he wouldn’t get hurt. But by doing that, I shielded him from figuring out what’s actually going on in this town, just because I was too scared to lose my best friend. More people could die if I don’t say anything, and that would be completely my fault.

“Stiles, I’m not mad.” Scott shakes his head, his chocolate brown eyes meeting mine, his strained expression making the bags under them more pronounced. When was the last time he slept? “Really, I’m not. I just found out my best friend was pretty badly hurt, so anger directed at you would be the last thing on my mind.”

“But now you’re just using the pity for me as some blanket to cover your emotions. I didn’t want you to know about it, because I know you, and you’d do everything in your power to see if I was alright before carrying on. Don’t get me wrong, I love that about you, man. It’s just, I feel like there are bigger things to worry about over my pale, injured body. It’s like you’re using my pain as a reason to not feel angry.” I complain, knowing that I’m not really making much sense. I try to pour enough emotion into my words so they sound genuine, but I’m starting to feel really tired from all the running and dying, and I can’t really portray what I’m trying without slurring.

“That’s not what’s happening, Stiles! I was a little hurt when I first found out, but firstly, it only lasted about 3 seconds before my brain kicked in and realised that you were _hurt_ and you needed help, and secondly, my sad expression wasn’t directed _at you_. Or it was, but not in the way you think. I thought you were just hiding it from me because you felt like you couldn’t trust me with it, and that’s why I froze up.” He sighs, blinking his eyes quickly as if to stop himself from tearing up. He looks back down, probably shrugging away from my intense gaze, or just wanting to have a reason to not look at my face anymore. It makes him seem so small, so powerless, but the fleeting memory of his eyes flashing red in the diner is enough to push that idea away.

“Scott, god no, that’s not what happened. That would _never_ happen!” I yell, almost horrified that he could even think that that’s what I thought about him. “I need you to know that it’s completely on me, right? I trust you more than anyone, okay? The reason I didn’t say anything was because I knew you’d care _too much_ , you asshole!” I shout, not exactly lying, but only saying half the truth. If I told Scott that I was also worried he’d think I was crazy, and throw me in Eichen House or something, he’d start another one of his tirades about how I didn’t trust him enough, and I don’t think I could handle one of those and come through it with dry eyes.

“That… doesn’t make any sense.” He blinks slowly, his brow knitted in confusion. “You thought I’d _care too much_? What does that even mean?”

“I didn’t want you to drop everything because of me. I know empathy is like second nature to you, and I was trying to avoid… _this_ exact scenario.” I hesitate, worried he’d picked up on my not-quite-true truth. “I know I fucked up, I’m not denying that, I just somehow convinced myself that I was doing the right thing, you know?”

“That’s the first time I’ve actually heard you admit to your mistakes.” Scott grimaces, pulling a disgusted face. “I don’t like it. It sounds wrong. Please go back to arrogantly denying any involvement.”

I smile at his words, but I don’t reply. I know he’s probably building up to saying something big, but also giving me an out just in case I don’t want to talk about it. Typical Scott McCall, always thinking about the wellbeing of others before his own convenience. I don’t rise to the challenge, however. I have no desire to ruin the moment with sarcasm, especially when I know that Scott needs me to shut up.

“You know,” He finally continues, after apparently accepting my silence. “It’s pretty weird that both our lies mirror each other’s almost identically. We both thought we knew how the other would react, so we went out of our ways to keep it a secret at any cost, not realising that leaving it unsaid made it stagnate, made it build up, until it was revealed in a way that hurt everyone involved.” Scott points out, not exactly verbally accepting my explanation, but I know he does agree, otherwise he wouldn’t have brought up the parallel between the two of us. If he didn’t believe me about not blaming him, then by his own words it would mean that he agreed it was my fault about him not telling me about Isaac, which doesn’t make any sense. But I know this is Scott’s roundabout way of trying to let go of his guilt.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” I whisper, pressing my back against the rough stone.

“I’ll get over it.” He dismisses simply, a small smile spreading across his face when I meet his gaze again. For a second, all the problems seemed miniscule and nonexistent as I watch my best friend’s eyes twinkle when he smiles at me. It’s a genuine smile, too, and it doesn’t take long before I’m smiling back. No words, no weird hand gestures, just content silence.

“Get over here, you idiot.” I grin, opening my arms to the universal gesture meaning ‘hug me you little shit’. Scott instantly listens, scooting forward to wrap his arms around me tightly. I’m not sure if he’s taking my pain, or if I just feel better for telling the truth, or _whatever_ , but every second this hug lasts, I feel myself start to melt and settle into it a little more.

Minutes pass, or hours, I’m not entirely sure, but Scott finally peels himself away from me, with tears glistening in his eyes. He moves to sit directly next to me, his shoulder touching mine as he delicately grabs my hand, holding onto it tightly as if I’d just disappear right in front of him. After a long couple of seconds, I feel my pain being leeched away, ever so slightly at first, then in a rush, as if it was just begging to be let out. I instinctively pull my hand away, because I don’t want him to feel my pain. Me feeling my own pain is bad enough, I don’t want to put him through that.

“Stiles, please-” Scott starts, but I clench my hand tightly, shutting my eyes as the pain comes crashing back down, seemingly more concentrated this time. After a few deep breaths, I’m finally able to open my eyes, but I can’t help feel a splitting headache, that was left there after my little episode with Allison and is only steadily getting worse.

“I know you’re trying to help, Scotty, but I can’t ask you to do this. I know that this wears you out, and I don’t want to hurt.” _Any more than I already have_ , I add silently, looking at my shivering fist.

“You’re not asking, I’m _offering_.” He corrects me patiently, placing his warm palm over my fist and continues to drain the pain away. I hate that it makes me feel better, because I’d honestly rather it not do anything than me becoming dependent on it. I can’t even stop myself from letting out a small sigh of relief when he starts again, and I almost kick myself when I do.

“Alright, fine. But please pace yourself, wolfboy. As soon as it starts to get too much, tell me. I’ve handled it this far without you holding my hand.” I inform him, trying to put on an equitable voice to seem like there’s no option in the matter.

“I promise. But, I’m an alpha, so I can take a lot of pain without really-” He starts to argue before I stop him.

“Nah, nah, nah, don’t give me that. Derek _lost_ his alpha-ness because he took too much pain from Cora.” I remind him, shaking my head painfully and watch as white circles dance in my vision.

“To _save_ Cora. And look! Neither of them are dead, and he knew that family was worth more than power.” Scott points out, his fingers twitching around my closed fist as the dark lines darken to inky swirls decorating his whole arm.

“But _I’m_ not dying. And _you’re_ not risking your true alpha powers just because of me, so for the love of god just listen to me.” I moan emphatically, rolling my eyes as far back as they could go. I stifle a cough after I finish talking, but it ends with me flinching horribly as a brief surge of pain echoes on my chest.

“Alright Stiles, alright. Take it easy, buddy.” Scott soothes gently, and I suspect he’s only agreeing to stop me from arguing back. Even so, I’m thankful for the fact he’s backing down, even if it is just because of pity. “Do you…” Scott starts, swallowing nervously, glancing down at my chest. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

I look at his pained expression, and really consider the options before opening my mouth. I _have_ to tell him, there’s no denying that. ( _But what good is it going to do?)_ A voice sounds in the back of my mind. ( _You’re just gonna get him hurt.)_ No, no, it doesn’t matter what I think. He deserves to know. ( _Then do it, and when he’s hurt trying to protect_ you _, then you’ll know it was all your fault.)_ He won’t get hurt, he can handle himself. He definitely doesn’t need me to tell him what he should or shouldn’t know. ( _All your fault.)_ I trust him. I trust him more than anything. That’s enough for me. ( _It’s all our fault._ ) The last outburst was whispered menacingly before scuttling back to the dark recesses of my mind, leaving me totally sure what I want to do.

 

I nod gently, a short stiff movement that I wasn’t even sure he saw until he turned back to look at me, his eyes looking eager and anticipating.

“What I said earlier, when I first said what happened, that wasn’t exactly a lie.” I start nervously, biting my cheek as I try and choose my words. “I mean, the bit about falling awkwardly on a rock wasn’t true, but the rest was. You’ve got to believe me, I never intended to lie, I- I just couldn’t get the words out-” I stammer, my sentences increasing in speed until the words start to merge into longer words that don’t make sense. I feel my heartbeat quicken as anxiety takes the breath out of my lungs, but Scott moves his hand to my back and the feelings fade away. And I know that it’s not his pain drain that’s causing it, it’s just my brain registering Scott’s arm around me as _safe_ , or as _home_. He rubs up and down comfortingly, twirling his thumb in circles, making patterns that are so delicate that I almost forget my train of thought.

“Uh, so, when I woke up in the middle of the forest, I honestly just thought that being awake since _before_ the Nogitsune had finally taken its toll on me and I’d collapsed from exhaustion. To be honest, I’m still not 100% sure that’s not what happened, but that’s not the point. I thought nothing of it, but then I heard-” I stop, closing my eyes as the memory flashes into view, almost paralysing me in fear. “I heard this… this _growl_ , but not the way you growl when you’re confused or when Derek growls because he wants me to shut up. It sounded more… uh, homicidal?” I offer questioningly, after forcing myself to keep talking.

“I growl when I’m confused?” Scott blanches, and I hear a small sound erupt from the back of his throat when he just looks at me.

“Bro, you’re doing it right now.” I laugh, slapping him on the shoulder comfortingly, as I put all my willpower to trying not to flinch when I heard the growl. I don’t want Scott to think I’m scared of him, it’s just the wound is still a little raw, and apparently there are some people out there who thinks it _was_ Scott. I’m thankful that I don’t count myself in that group, especially not after hearing Allison’s story about the murders. There’s no way it’s not connected to what happened to me. Oh crap, _Allison_. What do I do about the fact that there are fucking _ghosts_ following me around? I haven’t had any time to deal with that fact, and I’m worried I’m just gonna explode.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m confused.” Scott mutters, slicing through my thoughts and dragging me back to the real world. “What happened next?” Scott asks cautiously, but with the way he’s eyeing me we both know he knows, at least to some degree.

“I ran.” I respond simply, rubbing the back of my neck nervously. “At least I tried. I didn’t get very far.” I laugh nervously, pushing Scott’s arm off of my back so that I could turn and face him. I immediately missed the back-rest that I had, and I didn’t realise how much support it was actually giving me. It’s taking a lot of willpower just to stay upright, and I’m not even standing. I also feel, after a brief respite, all the pain returning, bleeding out of me like my body was some kind of radiator of agony.

“Whatever it was, it had claws. Big ones, too. Got me in the chest. Hurts like a motherfucker.” I comment, pushing out short sentences because I’m not sure that I could handle all the exertion of long sentences. I lift my shirt slowly, showing him the pale bandages wrapped around most of my torso, with patches of red all over, still wet and still leaking. “I’m pretty sure it’s fine though.” I grit out quickly, seeing his expression darken when I unveil it. He reaches out delicately, fingers brushing against the bandages, before I continue. I doubt he’d be too thrilled when I tell him there’s more. “It grabbed my leg too, trying to drag me back to its lair or something, I don’t know. I managed to kick whatever it was square in the nose. It slipped, and the claws got a little… messy.” I shrug casually, dropping my shirt again, and tensing as I push out each individual word. Luckily both my legs are in front of me, so it doesn’t take much manoeuvring to lift my pants leg to show the damage done. Even though Scott can’t see it, he reacts as if he knows how messed up my leg is under there. He probably can, really. Some true alpha thing, giving him x-ray vision. In this town? Who knows what could be possible.

“Jesus Stiles! How did you even make it all the way out here?” He grimaces reasonably, gripping my hand again, which was currently clenched tightly around the hem on my trousers after pulling the leg up.

“A lot of fear induced limping.” I admit, barely stopping myself from groaning in relief when Scott starts taking away the pain all over again. “But I don’t know, after it ripped my chest open, it just… _stopped_. But I don’t…” I trail off, taking a deep breath. “I don’t think it got what it needed.”

“What do you mean?” Scott pales, his brow furrowing.

“I think it wanted me dead, and that it’s probably gonna try again.” I whisper, touching on the subject that’s been on my mind all day. There’s no logical reason why it would just _stop_ trying to kill me, and even if I think that it would just be best if I did, I can’t do that to Scott. Or Lydia, or my dad, or the multitude of people that only just got me back.

“We’ll find him, Stiles. We’ll- We’ll find something, _anything_. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Scott replies confidently, without even a second of hesitation, and I can’t help smile at his immediate willingness to help. _That’s what I was worried about_.

“I know you will, bro. You’re probably already mentally kicking this guy’s ass.” I smile as Scott nods slowly. “But it’s a little harder than that. I mean, I haven’t even said anything about what attacked me. _I_ don’t even know much about them!”

“Then tell me. Let me help you.” He pushes eagerly, with so much earnest that it temporarily mutes the past of my head that usually stops me from doing things. _He’s right_ , I think to myself, _he can help. He’s Scott freakin’ McCall, and if he can’t do it, no one can._

“Uhh, it was big. And really goddamn fast. I assume it was a werewolf, but for real, I don’t know.” I start, willing myself to remember anything useful.

“How do you know it was a werewolf? And not like a really, really angry deer or something?” Scott questions innocently, making me burst into a fit of laughter.

“I wish it was an angry deer, man. It would be easier to explain.” I laugh, wiping a tear from my eye. “But seriously, it was definitely supernatural, there’s no doubt about it.” I finally add, remembering the snarls echoing around me as I sprinted away, the hand grabbing my leg, the dark silhouette of a human shape closing in around me…

“I believe you, don’t get me wrong about that, I just want to know how you’re so sure?”

“Scott, it was basically on top of me. If I was being attacked by a normal animal I think I would’ve noticed.” I deadpan, shuddering at the memory. “Plus there’s no way it was a coincidence with the Nemeton right there.”

“The what?” Scott asks slowly, shifting in his makeshift seat on the grass to face me. I don’t realise what’s wrong with- _oh shit did I say the Nemeton_? I forgot that I hadn’t told him about that! “Did you say the Nemeton?” He demands, panic flashing across his face. Of course he looks worried; it’s because of that god damned tree that I became the Nogitsune. It’s because of that tree that Allison and Aiden and everyone else died. It’s because of that tree that Scott and I have been steadily becoming more and more reserved, quieter, as the darkness takes hold of us both.

“I did.” I confess quickly, before my brain even has a chance to think about lying. “There may have been one small detail that I forgot to mention.”

“Stiles, what happened with the Nemeton?” Scott interrogates, his hand clenching around mine.

“You remember how I said that I just walked through the forest and collapsed for seemingly no reason?” I flinch, talking about the lie as if it was some fond memory.

“Like it was this morning.” Scott growls angrily.

“Well I might have glossed over a little detail that it all happened because I accidentally found the Nemeton, and I may or may not have touched it causing it to re-grow completely.” I continue quickly, desperate to get the words out as soon as possible. I don’t want to stretch out the memory longer than I have to.

“A _little detail_?! You did- it _accidentally-_ it re-grew?” Scott stammers, and it would be funny if he wasn’t both angry and terrified. I can only nod at his sentence fragments, even though we both know they don’t make sense. Not that my sentence made much sense either. “Stiles, can you just start from the start? What _actually_ happened to you?” He asks exasperatedly, and for the first time, I answer honestly.

 

I start with a thorough retelling of what happened before collapsing, then an even more detailed explanation of what happened immediately after I woke up, at Scott’s insistence. I then told him pretty much everything up till going to see Derek. He asks a lot of questions during my monologue, his face becoming more and more confused, but I’m thankful that he’s making this feel more like an actual conversation rather than an interrogation. I’ve already had one awful encounter with a McCall today, and I don’t want to bump that number to two. I try not to linger too much on the painful details, but he keeps telling me to repeat some parts, either because of clarification or disbelief, I’m not sure.

I know my voice broke from overuse at least once or twice, but he patiently waited for me to be able to continue, his hand back on my back soothingly, still drawing the pain out. At least, he was until I noticed a sheen on sweat glistening on his forehead, and I forced him to stop. I missed the feeling of his  hand on my back, and it felt like I got hit by a train seconds later, but I couldn’t watch as he tortured himself.

I just finished telling him the ominous message I received after I’d died the second (third?) time in Derek’s loft, about only having 15 days until- until _something_ happens, and Scott just watches me. Silence fills the air around me, for the hundredth time since I first found myself standing here, but it isn’t an awkward silence. It’s thoughtful, deducing, almost urgent. While he’s staring at me, his mouth opens slightly.

“You alright there Scotty?” I mumble nervously after a beat.

“Is that it?” He asks quietly, his voice clearly strained.

“Pretty much, yeah.” I sigh, glancing down guiltily.

“Oh, thank _god_.” Scott exhales, before launching himself at me again, wrapping his arms tightly around my neck and angling his body slightly to the left as to not press down on my chest. I’m slightly surprised when he hugs me again, but it only lasts a second before I’m hugging back and wrapping my arms around his chest, exhaling heavily into his hair. Everything aches, but, cliché be damned, it really does feel like some weight has been lifted off my chest. I can even breathe easier. It takes me a second to realise Scott is talking.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry this happened. I should have been there, I- I should have found you. I should have done _something_ , fucking _anything_ -” He mumbles softly into my ear, his voice laden with emotion as I press my face into his hair.

“Scott, _Scott_ , listen to me!” I hiss into his ear urgently. “This isn’t your fault, you know that, right? There’s no way it could _possibly_ be your fault! So what if you didn’t find me, it wasn’t from lack of trying! _You_ didn’t drag me out into the forest last month, _you_ didn’t force me to touch a freaking tree, and _you_ didn’t attack me and leave me for dead, what do you have to apologise for?” I finish angrily, still hissing into his ear.

“You were out there all month, Stiles! I should’ve found you; I should’ve known something was wrong!”

I pull away from the embrace, and grab Scott’s face, forcing him to look at me. I see streaks of tears on his face. “I didn’t need to be found, idiot.” I mutter forcefully, looking at his teary eyes. “The best thing you could have done for me was stay alive, and look! You did it! Congratulations, you’re redeemed!” I smile emphatically. It feels wrong saying that he’s ‘redeemed’, because I honestly, with all my heart, think he’s done nothing wrong. I’m just trying to help _him_ realise that, and it might mean I have to use a couple of key words.

“You didn’t need to be found?” He sniffs, puzzled by my words. At least he’s stopped apologising, that’s a start.

“I was dead to the world. Literally. If you’d found me during the month, you probably would’ve buried my body, and grieved for a while. Then I would’ve woken up, buried alive and a lot worse off than I am now. Or worse, imagine if you’d cremated me!” I grimace, only partly realising how lucky it was they didn’t find me. Scott smiles in front of me, and I feel his jaw clenching under my palms.

“Oh my god, you’re right.” Scott gapes in my hands. He finally lifts his head out of my grasp, and I realise with a jolt that he could’ve just done that at any point.

“Aw Scotty, you hurt me. Why’d you sound so disappointed?” I frown, and he wipes the tears off of his face before answering.

“I don’t know, I was just looking for someone to blame. It was easier to blame myself than this mysterious person that we know nothing about.” He shrugs sadly, wringing his hands as he talked.

“Are you kidding? It’s _so_ much easier blaming this guy _because_ we know nothing about him! You know you, and I know you, and we both know you’d never hurt me. Even under duress you were still adamant on keeping me alive. But this guy? Who knows what the fuck he wants? As far as either of us knows, he’s some mass murderous who gets off on killing defenceless kids. You’re telling me you’d rather blame _yourself_ , over this maybe-not-so-hypothetical _murderer_?” I laugh, almost shocked at his comment.

“Well, not when you say it like _that_.” Scott agrees with a smile on his face as he shakes his head violently. “You can be a real bossy asshole sometimes, you know that, right?” He grins, punching me lightly in the shoulder.

“Only sometimes? I’m offended.” I grin back at him, moving back to lean against my mother’s gravestone. It seems a little morbid when I think about it, but it makes me feel like a part of her is still here. “I know, dude. But I’m _your_ bossy asshole.”

“So you keep reminding me. Stiles, I’m not kidding. Literally once a week you refer to yourself as my asshole. It’s got to stop.” He laughs, bringing a large smile to my lips. It really is nice hearing him laugh again.

“Context, Scott. _Context_. When you say it like that it just sounds wrong.”

“It sounds wrong ever time you bring it up, too. It’s bad enough people think we’re dating, imagine what they’d do when they realise how much time you spend talking about my asshole.” He retorts, laughing even harder.

“Alright, alright! Point taken, now can we please stop talking about assholes?” I grimace, almost too afraid to admit that a couple of people may have already overheard us having this conversation before, and that’s where the rumour may have stemmed from in the first place.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Scott asks softly, after a minute of silence. I glance up from where my eyes had settled to see him watching at me. A part of me wonders how long he’s been looking at me like that.

“Apart from the near-death experience? I’m just peachy.” I reply sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

“I meant- it’s just, when you left the diner earlier, I could’ve sworn I heard you talking.” He admits slowly, narrowing his eyes as if he’s trying to gauge my reaction.

“What… what did I say?” I stammer, trying to look unfazed as I struggle to keep my heartbeat steady. How much did he hear? Did he hear me saying Allison’s name?

“You just said how you thought you were going crazy. I went out to see what you were looking at, but then you just ran.” He continues, the same expression on his face as he watches me.

“Oh, _that_.” I exclaim, feigning recognition as I mentally sigh in relief that that’s all he heard. “I told you how I hit my head pretty hard, right? I’m pretty sure I have a concussion.” I finish, waving it off as some sort of pressure starts to build up in my chest. I purposely don’t say anything more, in case I accidentally lie about it and he hears my heartbeat. This way, I don’t lie, and he doesn’t know that I’m seeing the ghosts of his ex-girlfriend and pack mate. Not yet, anyway. I’ll tell him later, when I know for sure I’m not going crazy.

“Is that all it was?” He questions me slowly, glancing at the lump on my temple nervously.

_No,_ I want to yell to release the pent up anger in my head, _that’s not all it was! I’m seeing things that cannot be there, like Allison’s fucking ghost, I keep missing hours of the day without realising and I’m scared that I’m going crazy, and even more scared that it’s to do with the Nemeton. I still hear the Nogitsune in my head and I still don’t know if it’s actually gone or not, and whenever I close my eyes, I see myself hurting you and Lydia and my dad and everyone, and I’m scared that it’s actually going to happen because apparently I don’t have control over my actions anymore. I might be arrested for fucking murder pretty soon by your dad, and I’m not even sure I didn’t do it, because I was there at the right time and I might have done it without remembering. I don’t even know if I’m awake now, and I don’t know if I’m going to remember this interaction at all later. There’s so much more to it than I can’t tell you, and I wish it was fucking easier to see that I’m not okay Scott. I’m not okay._

“Yep.” I answer instead, looking down at my shaking hands as I lie. Suddenly, there’s an outstretched hand in my face.

“Great. Let’s go, then.” He replies happily, and I realise he’s already stood up.

“Where are we going?” I ask uncertainly, placing my uninjured hand in his, feeling myself standing shakily as he pulls me to my feet. He ducks down and places my arm around his shoulder, before standing up straight, taking the weight off of my injured leg.

“We’re going to the Nemeton.”


End file.
